





y 

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FRED SPENCER? REPORTER 




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“ Mr * Ball,” he said, “ I can get aboard the Maritime tug” 

Frontispiece 


FRED SPENCER 

REPORTER r 


BY 

HENRY M. NEELY 




r 

ILLUSTRATED BY 

A. A. BLUM 



BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 




Copyright, 1912 

By Small, Maynard and Company 

(incorporated) 


Entered at Stationers' Hall 


THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 


©CI.A328098 


TO 

Alden March 


A small payment on account of a 
very large debt 



CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I The Chance of a Lifetime i 

II Mr. Blake Appears 15 

III Off on the Great Quest 23 

IV An Unpleasant Encounter 31 

V Struck from Behind 38 

VI A Struggle for Life 48 

VII Paddy is Puzzled 57 

VIII Groping in the Dark 70 

IX A Trick and a Start 82 

X The Scene on the Houseboat ... 90 

XI The Houseboat “ Seven Wonders” 103 

XII Friends with the Enemy 113 

XIII The Tables Turned 122 

XIV The Prisoner on the Houseboat . . 136 

XV Help via Wireless 145 

XVI Bill Sees the Allies 157 

XVII Almost a Victory 169 

XVIII Walter Helps His Enemy 180 

XIX Righter is Outwitted 192 

XX Righter is Left Behind 203 

XXI A Light in the Darkness 215 


CONTENTS 


viii 

Chapter Page 

XXII The Borrowed Wire 227 

XXIII The Chase through the Darkness 237 

XXIV The Two Lights Pass 251 

XXV A Fortunate Fall 262 

XXVI A Fall Not so Fortunate .... 274 

XXVII All Hope is Gone 286 

XXVIII A Prisoner Once More 299 

XXIX Fred Gives Up the Fight .... 31 1 

XXX The Return of Blake 323 

XXXI Homeward Bound 335 

XXXII Explanations 347 

/ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ Mr. Ball,” he said, “ I can get aboard the 

Maritime tug” Frontispiece 

PAGE 

He heard the rumble of voices coming from 
inside somewhere and when he reached 
the spot directly under the window, he 
stood up in his boat and peered through . 102 

“ Paddy, can you beat him?” he cried suddenly. 

“ His engine is not working right. It ’s 
missing explosions. I can hear it plainly ” 206 

He carried Fred down to the water’s edge and 
deposited him carefully beside the bow of 
the boat where it rested on the sand. . . 312 



FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


CHAPTER I 

THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME 

Fred Spencer sat listening in tense excite- 
ment to the instrument next to him as it ticked 
off its thrilling story. Youngest telegraph op- 
erator as he was, in the office of the Morning 
Call , he was yet skillful enough to follow the 
“ code ” that was being flashed like lightning 
to the veteran who sat at his typewriter with 
his nimble fingers printing upon the paper the 
complicated abbreviations of words and phrases 
that is known in newspaper offices as the 
“ Phillips code ” and that is mastered only by 
experts. But Fred Spencer, only seventeen 
and with unceasing ambition, had managed to 
master much of the code, so that he could 
now catch most of the message that was caus- 
ing such excitement in the great newspaper 
office. 

It was one o'clock in the morning. The first 
edition had just been issued from the rumbling 
presses in the basement below, and the whole 

i 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

force on the editorial floor was working like 
mad to get as much as possible into the 2.30 
edition that was then being prepared. 

The story to which Fred listened would be 
the sensation of the day. Nothing had yet 
been printed about it. A “ tip ” had been re- 
ceived by the city editor some time before that 
a young boy, heir to one of the greatest ship- 
ping firms in the country, was being quietly 
taken away by his uncle, the present manager 
of the concern, and that the uncle intended 
to keep him hidden until his own plans for 
obtaining control of the company had been 
matured. 

Nothing had been printed about the “ tip ” 
because, so far, the city editor had been un- 
able to confirm it, but now, from a thousand 
miles away, came this dispatch from a special 
correspondent, confirming the first rumors and 
giving further details. 

“ Boy — is — almost — certainly — aboard 
— the — Manchester ,” Fred translated, as the 
dots and dashes tumbled over each other, as 
if they, too, knew that edition time was near 
and that haste was necessary. 

“ Bo — o — oy,” bawled the operator, as he 
whipped the sheet of paper from the typewriter 
and deftly inserted another. 

2 


THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME 

A grimy office boy dashed down the long 
room, seized the paper and hurried back with 
it to the circular table about which sat the 
“ copy readers/’ the men to whom all stories 
were brought for correction, condensation and 
for the writing of the headlines under which 
they would appear in the paper. 

But the city editor himself seized the sheet 
from the table and hastily glanced over it. 
Then he dashed down the room and stood be- 
hind the operator, reading over his shoulder 
each word as it was imprinted by the deft 
fingers. 

If he was excited, he showed it only by the 
eager gleam in his keen eyes as they read. 
Long training in newspaper work had taught 
Mr. Ball to hold his feelings well in hand no 
matter what was going on about him, and he 
had lived among scenes of excitement so long 
that it took something decidedly out of the 
ordinary to awaken even that gleam which 
his eyes now showed. 

“ Martin,” he called, “ come here, quick.” 

Martin, the “ star ” reporter, took his feet 
from his desk, put down the book he was read- 
ing and joined his superior. 

“ This is great stuff,” said Mr. Ball. 
“ Young Desborough is on board the Man - 
3 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Chester. He will be here soon, and we shall 
be able to print that story — you know, the 
one I told you about the other day — the kid- 
napping of the Maritime Steamship Company’s 
future owner.” 

“ Oh, yes,” nodded Martin. “ Great stuff, 
that — if we can land it.” 

“ If,” exclaimed the city editor. “ There 
must n’t be any ‘ if ’ about this. We ’ve simply 
got to land it. And I guess you ’ll have to take 
care of the job.” 

Fred looked at Martin enviously. During 
all the months in which the boy had worked 
at his telegraph key, he had regarded the star 
reporter with awe and veneration. In Fred’s 
estimation, nobody could possibly live so ex- 
citing a life in these modern days as did this 
man who now talked so coolly about this great 
sensation. Martin was the intimate of all the 
great men of the city and many of the leaders 
of the nation. The Mayor had once called in 
his automobile to take Martin somewhere, and 
Fred had heard the reporter address the Chief 
Executive by his first name. Endless were the 
stories that the younger men on the staff told 
about the prowess of this veteran of many 
years. He had been in hand-to-hand conflict 
with desperate men, he had trailed criminals 
4 


THE CHANCE OE A LIFETIME 


like the detectives of fiction and had brought 
them to justice when the regular police methods 
had failed, he had gone through two wars 
and bore the scar of a wound received on the 
field of battle, he had been sent by his paper 
to foreign countries, where he had lived like 
a prince among the famous men of Europe and 
his paper had borne all his expenses. No won- 
der that the young telegraph operator, sitting 
night after night listening as his instrument 
recorded the humdrum happenings of sub- 
urban towns, longed to live such a life. 

Fred had determined from the first that he 
would work his way upward until he had 
gained his heart's desire — a position as re- 
porter on the staff of the Morning Call. But 
there seemed little chance for the lad. He had 
once spoken of his ambition to Mr. Ball, and 
the city editor had smiled kindly and advised 
him to wait at least five years and to study 
hard in the meantime. But Fred, hearing day 
after day of the continued excitement of the 
star reporter's life and the endless narration 
of the interesting things that he had done, 
nursed his desires in secret and determined to 
grasp the first opportunity. 

And now Martin was to be sent upon an- 
other thrilling “ assignment." There could be 
5 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


no doubt that this story of the hiding of young 
Desborough would tax the abilities of the best 
man to the utmost, and Spencer longed for just 
such a task. He could picture to himself the 
honors that would be showered upon the re- 
porter who could print the story before any 
other paper heard of it, and these honors and 
the excitement that would precede them in the 
search for the news were what Fred deter- 
mined should some day be his lot. 

“ Get the shipping reports and see when the 
Manchester is due here,” he heard the city; 
editor say. 

In a few minutes Martin came back. 

“ If she has a clear run, she may make the 
bay by to-morrow night,” the star reporter in- 
formed him. “That means she would dock 
some time the next day, probably late in the 
evening.” 

The city editor bit his black moustache as 
he puzzled over the situation. 

“ You ’ll have to get on board that ship be- 
fore she comes into the river,” he decided 
finally. “We cannot run the risk of any other 
paper stumbling across the story.” 

Martin grunted. 

“ Not much chance of my doing that,” he 
said. “ The Maritime people send a tug to 
6 


THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME 


meet all their ships, and you know they don’t 
like me since I exposed Blake for that mining 
deal he tried to put through on the public.” 

“ Blake is this Desborough boy’s uncle, is n’t 
he?” asked Ball. 

“ Yes. If this is a real kidnapping, he ’s 
the man responsible for it, and he ’s also the 
man who will profit by it if he gets it through. 
All his people know me, and I could n’t possibly; 
get on board their tug.” 

Fred Spencer jumped from his chair in sud- 
den excitement. His eyes were gleaming bright 
with hope, for a sudden daring scheme had 
entered his head. But the two veterans paid 
no attention. 

“ Well,” said Ball, “ somebody has simply 
got to get down the bay on the Maritime tug 
and get to that Desborough boy on board the 
Manchester” 

“ Nelson could do it,” said Martin. “ He 
knows all those people and they like him.” 

Nelson was the reporter regularly assigned 
to get the shipping news of the port. 

“ I know he could,” growled Ball. “ But 
he ’s sick. Taken to the hospital last night. 
No chance of getting out for Lord knows how 
long.” 

Fred approached the city editor timidly. He 
7 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

was almost dumbfounded by the daring of the 
scheme he had to propose, yet it was a per- 
fectly feasible one. 

“ Mr. Ball/' he said, “ I can get aboard the 
Maritime tug.” 

Ball and Martin both wheeled upon the lad. 
The city editor looked angry at the interrup- 
tion, but the star reporter gazed into the young 
operator's eyes keenly and he saw the deep 
earnestness of Fred's expression. Martin was 
the first to speak. 

“ How can you manage it? ” he asked. 

“Why,” said Fred eagerly, “my roommate, 
Paddy O’Day, works for his uncle, who is the 
fireman on board the tug Vixen. That 's the 
tug they always send down to meet their ships. 
Paddy has often taken me down with them, 
and I have never had the slightest trouble 
getting on board the ships with the rest. 
Would you let me try it?” 

The two men glanced at each other and 
then again looked at the flushed and eager lad. 
Finally the city editor spoke. 

“ How old are you, Spencer ? ” he asked. 

“ Seventeen,” replied Fred. 

Ball chewed savagely upon his black mous- 
tache. 

“ I wish it were thirty-seven,” he muttered. 

8 


THE CHANGE OF A LIFETIME 


“ Are you sure you can get aboard without 
question? ” asked Martin. 

“ Easily,” said Fred. “ Even if they have 
reasons for concealing anything from repor- 
ters, they would never suspect me of being 
one. And, if Mr. Nelson were here, I doubt 
very much whether they would let him aboard 
this trip because they all know what he is. 
Please let me try it, Mr. Ball.” 

The lad’s earnest words had evidently im- 
pressed both men. Martin kept his keen eyes 
bent upon the boy, and Ball seemed determined 
to chew his moustache entirely off. 

“ Are you sure,” said the city editor at 
length, “ that you are n’t letting your anxiety 
to become a reporter get the better of your 
judgment? ” 

“ Perfectly sure,” declared Fred. “ The 
whole thing seems absolutely simple to me, and, 
even were Mr. Nelson here, I think I should 
be the one to go.” 

Martin turned to the city editor. 

“ Pie might at least be able to get all the 
facts,” he suggested. “ He could come back 
and give them to me or put them on the wire 
somewhere down the river, and we could verify 
them and rewrite them here. It ’s worth think- 
ing over, anyway.” 


9 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

But Ball was evidently by no means 
convinced. 

“ Come down to my office and we 'll talk the 
thing over,” he said to Martin. “ We will not 
print any of this stuff to-night. It would give 
the other papers the tip and they might beat 
us to it.” 

He turned upon his heel and, without even 
another glance at the eager young operator, 
walked down the long room, followed by 
Martin, and the two disappeared behind the 
glass door of the city editor's private office. 

Fred sat down again at his instrument. 
“V-G — V-G — V-G” it was ticking desper- 
ately. “ V-G ” was the signal for the office 
of the Morning Call.. Somebody at the other 
end of the wire wanted him. The lad opened 
the key and answered, “I-I, V-G,” which was 
a signal that he was ready to work, and the 
instrument began to pound out a most unin- 
teresting account of a small robbery in a 
near-by town. Fred’s fingers flew automati- 
cally over his typewriter keys, but his mind was 
upon his great scheme and he made many mis- 
takes, having to ask several times for a repe- 
tition of a word or a whole sentence. Finally, 
however, the task was done, and he took the 
sheet of paper himself up to the “ copy desk.” 
io 


THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME 


As he turned to go back to his seat, the city 
editor’s door opened, and Martin poked his 
head out. 

“ Oh, Spencer,” he said, when he saw the 
lad, “ come in here a minute, will you?” 

Fred’s heart jumped as he followed the star 
reporter into the room and took the seat that 
the city editor indicated to him by a wave of 
the hand. Ball sat with his elbows on the 
arms of his chair, his whole body hunched for- 
ward and his scowling eyes bent upon his desk, 
but focused upon no particular object. He 
was thinking hard, and it looked as though his 
thoughts were not very satisfactory ones. 
Finally he swung about and faced Fred. 

“ Spencer,” he said, “ I ’m afraid that you 
are our only hope in this matter. Frankly, 
I am very doubtful of your ability to make 
anything out of it. But there is no other way 
that we can see, and I ’m going to give you a 
chance at it. If you fail, I shall not be dis- 
appointed. If you succeed, even partially, I 
shall be very pleasantly surprised, and I can 
assure you that the reporter’s job which you 
seem so anxious to get will be yours on the 
spot.” 

Fred’s eyes danced with excitement. 

“ I ’ll do it, sir,” he cried. “ I know I can 
ii 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

do it. It ’s the chance I ’ve been waiting for, 
and I ’m going to make good.” 

Ball and Martin both smiled at the young 
fellow’s enthusiasm. 

“ I felt that way twenty years ago,” said 
the star reporter gently. “ I wish I could feel 
as enthusiastic now. You go on in, young 
fellow, and if you win, I ’ll take you under 
my wing and show you what little I know 
about the business.” 

“Little,” exclaipied Fred. “Why, they say 
that you know all there is to know about it.” 

“ Nobody knows it all,” said the reporter. 
“ Nobody can ever know all there is to be 
known about this business, for its interests are 
as wide as the world ; everything that has ever 
happened or that is happening now or that will 
ever happen is a part of it. Conditions are 
changing from day to day, and the methods 
that succeeded yesterday are going to be use- 
less to-morrow. It ’s that constant change 
that makes it so fascinating that, once a man 
has got fairly into it, he finds it impossible 
to be happy out of it. But you ’ve got a job 
here that will be full of tight places for you, 
if I ’m a judge, and you must n’t look for any 
easy sailing. It ’s ticklish and it ’s going to 
require nerve and brains and quick thinking, 
12 


THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME 


and even then you are apt to lose out on it. 
This man Blake, whom you will have to buck 
against, is one of the most conscienceless vil- 
lains I ever had the pleasure of meeting, and 
he is shrewd enough to beat most men at any 
game he undertakes.” 

“ And to think,” cried Ball, thumping the 
desk, “ that I 've got to fight him with a raw 
baby, a boy who scarcely knows his A B C's. 
I don't mean anything personal, Spencer, but 
you can see the position I am placed in. 
Why, it 's the biggest story we have had 
in years, and I can't put an experienced man 
on it.” 

“ I 'll get the story for you, Mr. Ball,” said 
Fred determinedly. “ I 'll get it or there won't 
be much left of me after I have tried.” 

“ That 's the way to talk,” said Martin ap- 
provingly. “ But don't you get too confident, 
Spencer. You 've got a hard knot to unravel, 
and if you succeed, you 'll deserve any reward 
Mr. Ball gives you.” 

“ And you 'll get all you deserve,” cried Ball. 
“ Anything you ask — only bring me the story 
first. Now for your instructions.” 

For half an hour or more Fred listened as 
the two men talked, asking questions now and 
then that brought approval from his superiors, 

13 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

r for they showed that he had the right ideas. 
Finally Ball said: 

“ Well, it 's three o'clock. You 'd better go 
home now and sleep. I 'll meet you here in 
the morning and give you a few final words 
and some money. Go home now. Good night." 


CHAPTER II 


MR. BLAKE APPEARS 

Fred entered as silently as possible the little 
bedroom which he shared in the boarding-house 
with Paddy O’Day. Red-headed and freckle- 
faced was Paddy, with a pair of Irish blue 
eyes that were as open and honest as the day 
is long and that were always sparkling with 
the good humor that is born of native wit and 
nurtured by good health and bright spirits. 
The boys had become boon companions since 
fate had thrown them together to share their 
lot in common three months before. 

Paddy, as Fred had told Mr. Ball, helped 
his relative in the engine-room of the tug 
Vixen on her trips up and down the river and, 
when she was laid up at the dock, he made 
himself generally useful about the offices of 
the Maritime Steamship Company. Just as 
Fred was ambitious to do the work of the re- 
porters he saw around him daily, so Paddy 
was ambitious to become a telegraph operator 
i5 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


like Fred and, under his friend’s careful and 
loving guidance, had become quite proficient 
in the making and receiving of the dots and 
dashes that make up the language of the wire. 
The boys had a small practice instrument in 
their room, and every night when Fred came 
home early and Paddy was not aboard the 
tug, they spent hour after hour talking to 
each other by means of the clicks of the metal 
bar. 

Fred found Paddy curled up in bed, sound 
asleep when he entered. He hesitated some 
time before deciding whether to awaken the 
Irish lad, but his news was too big and ex- 
citing to be kept to himself, so he went over 
to the bed and shook the towsled mass of red 
hair that marked the spot where Paddy’s head 
rested among the pillows. 

“ Belay there,” muttered Paddy, rolling 
over and preparing to sleep again. 

“ Wake up, Paddy,” said Fred, shaking him 
again. “ I ’ve something very important to 
tell you and I must have your help at once.” 

Paddy rolled over again and half rose on 
one elbow, blinking sleepily into the light. 

“It must be important,” he growled, “to 
come waking up a decent, hard-working man 
in the middle of his sleep. And, begorrah, — ” 
16 


MR. BLAKE APPEARS 


he shook his fist at Fred, — “ if it ’s not im- 
portant at all when you ’ve done telling it to 
me, I ’ll not bother to listen to a word of it.” 

Fred sat at a little table by the window and 
opened the key of their practice telegraph 
instrument. 

“ See if you can read it when I send it fast,” 
he said, and his nimble fingers began clicking 
off the words, — “ I ’m a reporter — I’m a 
reporter — I ’m a reporter.” 

Paddy sat up in astonishment. 

“ Have you got the job at last? ” he cried. 

“ Bully for you,” said Fred. “ I sent that 
faster than anything you ’ve had before. 
(You ’ll be a good operator soon. Yes, I ’ve 
got the job — or, at least, I ’ve been given the 
chance of my life to get it. But I can’t do 
a thing without your help.” 

“ Me,” cried Paddy. “ How could the likes 
of me be helping a real reporter ? ” 

Fred told him of the events of the night 
that had led so rapidly and unexpectedly to 
his opportunity. 

“ It ’s the biggest kind of a story,” he ex- 
plained as he finished his narrative, “ and I 
don’t quite see how I am going to pull through, 
but if you can get me aboard the Vixen when 
she goes down the river to meet the Manches- 
1 7 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

ter , that will be a beginning at least and we 'll 
have to trust to luck for the rest.” 

“ I ’ll get you aboard, all right,” promised 
Paddy. “ We start to-morrow afternoon — 
or rather this afternoon, for it ’s near daylight 
now, and if you want to be in condition to 
keep your wits about you, you ? d better turn 
in and get some sleep.” 

Fred undressed quickly, but Paddy was snor- 
ing before the light was turned out. Excite- 
ment kept the young telegraph operator awake 
for a long time, and when at last he did fall 
into a troubled sleep it seemed but a moment 
before Paddy was shaking him and bidding 
him get up and prepare for his difficult task. 

Together the boys ate their breakfast and 
hurried to the river front where the Maritime 
Steamship Company had its great docks and 
offices. Here lay the tug Vixen , moored to 
a wharf, the steam puffing from her as though 
she were some giant monster, pulling at her 
leash in her impatience to be free. Paddy 
went aboard and disappeared into the engine- 
room. Soon his red head appeared again and 
he came running up to where Fred stood with 
the light of complete triumph in his Irish eyes. 

“ It ’s all right,” he announced. “ We start 
at four thirty this afternoon, and Uncle Mike 
18 


MR. BLAKE APPEARS 


says you can come aboard and help me if 
you 'll keep out of sight and not bother the 
people going down with us.” 

“ Who ’s going down with us? ” asked Fred. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. There ’s always some- 
body or other. Come along, now. The Boss 
don’t like people hanging about the dock.” 

“ Some day,” said Fred, “ some day, if I 
succeed, young Walter Desborough will be 
‘ The Boss ’ here. It was his father who 
founded this company and, when he died, left 
it all to Walter. Now Walter has disappeared, 
and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if we find 
that some one who wants to get hold of the 
company’s affairs had a hand in his disappear- 
ance. It ’s all very mysterious, and, after all, 
it may turn out that there is nothing wrong 
about it and that the boy is safe and sound 
somewhere with his family. That would be 
much better for Walter Desborough and the 
Maritime Steamship Company, but it would 
spoil a mighty good story and ruin my chances 
of becoming famous besides. No, I ’m sorry 
to seem cruel, but I hope for my sake that 
Walter Desborough is in trouble and that I 
shall be the one to get him out of it.” 

“ Here too,” echoed Paddy. “ And I wish 
besides that yours truly, Patrick O’Shea O’Day, 
i9 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

the same being me, shall be the means of 
making it possible for you. Then maybe 
there 'll be something nice in it for me. And 
now I 'd be much obliged if you 'd get out 
and leave me alone, as my great-uncle said to 
the warden when they came to take him away 
to hang him. I 've got to get to work, and if 
the Boss sees you here there 'll be trouble." 

As Fred turned to go, he saw that they had 
been watched by a man who was now hurry- 
ing toward them. Fred instinctively disliked 
this man at first sight. Why this dislike should 
seem suddenly to grow into positive hate as 
their eyes met it would be hard to say, for 
neither could know what the future was to 
hold for them, how their paths were to cross 
and recross, and how bitter was to grow their 
enmity. 

“ Begorrah, it 's the Boss himself," said 
Paddy. “ Now I 'm in for it, as my great- 
uncle said when they put the noose about his 
neck." 

Charles Blake, vice-president and manager 
of the Maritime Steamship Company, walked 
up to the two boys with an angry scowl on 
his face. Pie was not an attractive man. His 
shaggy brows and heavy black moustache gave 
him a sinister and wicked expression that was 
20 


MR. BLAKE APPEARS 

made more repulsive by the continual scowl 
that he wore, showing an ugly nature that 
promised anything but pleasant companionship. 

“ O’Day,” he growled, “ you know the rules 
against bringing strangers on to the property 
of this company without permission.” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Paddy. “ Only I 
did n’t bring this gentleman on. He came on 
himself, sir, on the two legs of him.” 

“ Don’t be impudent,” snarled the Boss. “ It 
may cost you your job and I imagine you need 
that. Or are you a millionaire working for 
your health ? ” 

Blake’s tone was one of biting sarcasm, but 
it had no dampening effect on the good spirits 
of the Irish lad. 

“ Well, sir,” answered Paddy, “ I ’m not a 
millionaire yet, but I expect I soon will be with 
the savings I ’m making out of the munificent 
salary they pay me here. But, meaning no 
harm, sir, my friend here just came down to 
bring me an important letter that came for 
me to-day from the old country and I would n’t 
be missing it for a good deal.” 

This was, of course, not the truth, but Paddy 
knew better than to tell the surly Blake the 
real reason for Fred’s presence on the dock. It 
would have spoiled all their plans, for Blake 
21 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


himself had made a stringent rule against any 
one not an employee being on board the com- 
pany^ tugs when they went down the river to 
meet the steamers. 

The Boss turned to Fred with an ugly leer 
on his face. 

“ You get out of here and stay out,” he 
commanded. “ I don’t like your face anyway.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said the boy. “ I ’m sorry 
to have displeased you, but I meant no harm.” 

“ I ’m not so sure of that,” snarled Blake. 
“ Anyway you get out and stay out. If I see 
you again around here, I ’ll have you arrested 
for trespass. Remember that.” 

As Fred turned to go, Paddy whispered: 

“Be here at three and you can get aboard 
all right. He ’s never here that late.” 

Fred nodded, and as he walked out of the 
gate he made up his mind that, if the chance 
ever came to him, he would teach Charles 
Blake to have better manners. 

And the chance came much sooner than 
either expected. 


22 


CHAPTER III 

OFF ON THE GREAT, QUEST 

Promptly at three o’clock Fred reached the 
river front. He was more than ever excited. 
Much had happened since he had left Paddy, 
and he was impatient to tell his friend of the 
new developments and to get the advice of the 
shrewd Irish lad. 

Fred quickened his pace as the offices of the 
Maritime Steamship Company came in sight 
around the corner, and then he stopped. A 
big red automobile stood before the door, the 
man getting into it being easily recognizable 
as the vice-president and manager of the 
company. Blake stood with one foot on the 
steps at the opened door of the machine, talk- 
ing in low tones to another man, evil of face 
and clad in rough and coarse clothes that de- 
noted the waterman. 

“ That ’s a pretty-looking pair,” thought 
Fred, as he watched them from a place where 
he could not be seen. “ I don’t know which 

23 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

one is the more repulsive looking. I should n’t 
like to meet either on a dark street after night- 
fall. I ’m glad Blake is going away in his 
auto. He would be an unpleasant customer 
to meet on board the tug, especially after his 
frank declaration of his dislike for me. Hello, 
he ’s off.” 

With a loud sputtering of her engine, the 
big machine gave a jump and soon raced out 
of sight down the street, with Charles Blake 
leaning back luxuriously among the cushions, 
a black cigar held firmly between his teeth with 
much the same expression that an angry bull- 
dog with a bone would have. 

Fred waited until the other man had dis- 
appeared into the office. The boy saw that he 
limped decidedly with his left foot, but he was 
too far away for his features to be recogniz- 
able. A minute later, Fred stood at the side 
of the dock. 

The tug Vixen was still puffing and pulling 
at her hawsers some distance out toward the 
end of the pier. There was no sign of life 
aboard except the escaping steam, and Fred 
wondered how long he should have to wait 
until Paddy appeared. He had hardly put 
the question to himself when he saw the 
familiar red head under the dock and Paddy’s 
24 


OFF ON THE GREAT QUEST 

blue eyes peered out at him. The Irish boy 
made a warning signal for silence, withdrew 
his head, and a few moments later, Fred 
heard, almost at his feet, a clicking that took 
the form of the telegraph signal, “ V-G — 
V-G — ” This was Fred’s signal when at the 
office, and he had taught Paddy to use it on 
their instrument at home. He peered down 
now and saw that his friend was indeed call- 
ing to him in this unique way. Paddy was in 
a rowboat. He was clicking a small piece of 
stick between the prongs of an oar lock, and 
with these clicks had made the signal that at- 
tracted Fred’s attention. 

The young reporter, with a glance about him 
to make certain that no one watched him, low- 
ered himself down the side of the pier and 
was soon seated in the stern of the rowboat. 

“ That was a good idea of yours for calling 
me, Paddy,” he said. “ It is a sort of wire- 
less telegraph. We must bear it in mind in 
future, for you cannot tell when such schemes 
will come in handy.” 

“ All right, my boy,” said Paddy. “ You 
can have the idea, and I ’ll charge you nothing 
for the use of it, as my great-uncle said when 
he suggested that they hang the warden in- 
stead of himself. Now you want to get aboard 

25 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


and out of sight before any one sees you or 
else your chance of getting on the Manchester 
is mighty slim. The Boss is sending down that 
man Righter to go along with us, and if there ’s 
any man under the blue sky above that ’s worse 
than the Boss himself, it’s Righter.” 

“Who is he?” asked Fred. 

“ He ’s the Boss’ handy man when there ’s 
anything dirty or mean to be done. He ’s as 
crooked in his disposition as he is in the left 
leg of him, and that ’s so crooked you could 
use it for comparison to see how near straight 
a ram’s horn is.” 

“ That must have been Righter talking to 
Blake before the automobile started,” ex- 
claimed Fred. “ He and Blake were mutter- 
ing very confidentially to each other and Blake 
seemed to be giving him some final instructions 
before he left.” 

“ That ’s the man,” said Paddy; “ and if 
Blake was muttering final instructions or final 
anything else, you can bet it won’t be final, 
for it ’s probably some dirty work they ’re just 
beginning. I ’m glad I ’m not in the way of 
those two fellows, I tell you.” 

“ Well,” said Fred, “ Blake is out of the 
way for this trip, and I guess I can keep out 
of sight of Righter until we get too far down 
26 


OFF ON THE GREAT QUEST 

the bay for him to put me off without throw- 
ing me off, and that would be murder.” 

“ Murder, is it ! ” exclaimed Paddy. “ And 
do you think a little thing like a murder or 
two would be any hindrance to the likes of 
Righter and the Boss ? Little you know them, 
my boy. And now, here ’s the tug. Climb 
aboard and stow yourself out of sight in the 
engine-room. The rest of them will be here 
in a little while. They want to start as early 
as they can.” 

The boys were soon comfortably seated out 
of sight of any one passing on deck ?j and 
then Paddy said: 

“ You look so full of news for me that you ’d 
bust if you had any more. Out with it. It ’ll 
do you good.” 

“ Well,” began Fred, “ Blake is in this thing 
in some way, I ’m certain of that. He was in 
the Call office to-day trying to throw Mr. Ball 
off the scent.” 

“ Blake was in the Call office,” exclaimed 
Paddy. “ Then you can bet he ’s in it ; and if 
he ’s in it, there ’s going to be trouble some- 
where. What did he say ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Fred. “ He was 
closeted with Mr. Ball for a long while and, 
as he passed me on his way out, he looked 
27 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

puzzled for a moment and then said, ' Are n't 
you the boy I ordered out of my place this 
morning?’ 'Yes, sir/ I said. He hesitated 
and seemed puzzled more than ever. Then he 
scowled. ‘ Well/ he said maliciously, ' if you 
know what ’s good for you, you ’ll keep out.’ 
Then he turned on his heel and went down 
the stairs. 

'' Mr. Ball came out after a while and walked 
up to where I was sitting. ' Spencer/ he said, 
'there’s nothing in that Desborough story. 
That was the boy’s uncle that was just in here 
to see me, and he has explained the whole thing 
to me satisfactorily. You won’t get the chance 
to distinguish yourself, after all.’ I was dum- 
founded for a moment. ‘ Mr. Ball/ I said, ' I 
don’t know what that man Blake has told you, 
but I know something about him, and I am 
more than ever convinced that there is foul 
play somewhere in the disappearance of Walter 
Desborough, and now I feel certain that Blake 
is at the bottom of it. If you will let me go 
ahead on my own hook, I should like to do so. 
If I fail, I am willing to forfeit my pay for the 
time I am away from the office. If I succeed, 
I shall hold you to your promise to give me a 
good position as a reporter on your staff.’ Mr. 
Ball did not seem to know what to do. It 
28 


OFF ON THE GREAT QUEST 

was evident that Blake had told him a pretty 
good yarn, for Mr. Ball is not easily thrown 
off the track of a big story. Finally he said: 
‘ All right, Spencer. It ’s about time for your 
vacation anyway, and if nothing comes of it, 
you can consider it as part of your holiday/ 

“ That was satisfactory to me, so I made all 
my arrangements, and here I am, more than 
ever convinced that I am on one of the biggest 
and most sensational stories that has turned up 
in this town in many a long day.” 

“ Right you are,” enthusiastically exclaimed 
Paddy. “If Blake is mixed up in it enough 
to make him try to cover up his tracks that way, 
I ’d bet a good Alderney cow against an empty 
milk can that you are headed for trouble with 
your engines at full speed. Belay there. Here 
comes my esteemed Uncle Mike.” 

The grimy engineer came up the gang 
plank, followed by the motley crew. After 
them came the limping man, and Fred recog- 
nized him instantly as the one he had seen talk- 
ing to Blake at the door of the automobile. 
His evil little eyes kept peering restlessly and 
suspiciously from side to side, and Fred with- 
drew into the darkest recesses of the engine- 
room so as to run no danger of being seen. 
He heard the shouts of the captain, the answers 
29 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


of the crew, the tramping of many feet as the 
hawsers were cast off, and then the engineer’s 
bell rang once for “ Go ahead slow.” 

With a wheezing and puffing of steam, a long 
deep drone of the whistle and a mighty churn- 
ing of the wheels, the tug labored into action, 
and the rocking of the craft soon told him that 
they had put out into the river. A moment 
later there was a jingle of the engineer’s bell, 
the signal for “ full speed ahead,” and Fred 
knew that at last he was off on his great quest 
in earnest. 


30 


CHAPTER IV 


AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER 

The two boys, hidden in their corner of the 
engine-room, talked in whispers as the machin- 
ery pounded its rhythmic way mile after mile 
down the river. Events had so shaped them- 
selves that Fred no longer had any doubt that 
he was on the right track and that he had stum- 
bled upon the very people who could show him 
the way to the solution of the mystery sur- 
rounding the disappearance of Walter Desbor- 
ough. Fred was all enthusiasm; Paddy was 
equally enthusiastic, but his natural shrewdness 
and his greater knowledge of the men with 
whom they had to deal made him counsel slow 
and sure methods where Fred would have been 
likely to plunge ahead at the first opportunity 
and take his chances of coming out victorious. 

So impatient was the young reporter to get 
on the actual track of his story that he sug- 
gested going on deck and talking with Righter, 
but to this Paddy was positively opposed. 

3i 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

u You could get nothing out of him,” said 
the Irish boy, “ and he ’d be more than likely 
to throw you overboard in the middle of the 
river. And you’d have a hard time getting 
out of that, I ’m thinking, as the warden said 
to my great-uncle as they pulled the noose extra 
tight about his neck.” 

“ Well,” said Fred, “ I can’t stay here doing 
nothing much longer. I must do something.” 

“ You ’d better be doing nothing than be do- 
ing something that ’d be worse than nothing at 
all,” answered Paddy. “ First thing you know 
you ’ll be spoiling the whole thing wanting to 
go talking to the likes of Righter. Whist! 
What ’s up now ? ” 

There was a sudden pull of the wire leading 
from the pilot house of the tug to the bell in 
the engine-room, the bell rang once, the signal 
for “ Slow down,” and Uncle Mike, with the 
pull of a lever, brought the throbbing machin- 
ery to a slow, regular pulsation that gave them 
only enough way through the water to enable 
the tug to answer her helm. 

“ Something ’s up,” said Paddy. “ I ’ll take 
a peep and see what it is. No, you don’t,” as 
Fred rose to go with him. “ You stay where 
you are. I belong on board here and I can go 
where I like without any one asking me why, 
32 


AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER 


but if they saw you they 'd be asking all sorts 
of uncomfortable questions/ 5 

The lad strode over to the door of the en- 
gine-room and stood looking out across the 
river. He stayed there so long that Fred be- 
came impatient, but restrained himself because 
he recognized the wisdom of Paddy's caution. 
Finally the red head turned toward him. 

“ It 's a gasoline launch that 's put out from 
shore and signaled us,” said Paddy in an 
undertone. “ Our people must have been ex- 
pecting her. We ’re waiting till she comes 
alongside.” 

Five minutes of silence followed — five min- 
utes that to Fred's tense nerves seemed like 
five hours, and then he heard Paddy give an 
exclamation of surprise and dismay. As Fred 
looked up, he met the staring eyes of the Irish 
boy, and his heart sank, for he knew that it 
must be a great misfortune indeed that would! 
so appall a lad with the buoyant spirits of 
Paddy. He beckoned, and his friend came over 
to him and sank limply to the floor beside him. 

“ It 's all up,” he moaned. “ Who should 
it be on the launch but the Boss himself ? ” 

“ Blake? ” gasped Fred. 

“ Blake and no one else,” said Paddy. 

Fred sat stupefied. Here indeed was an un- 
33 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


expected complication that threatened the com- 
plete destruction of all his hopes and plans. 
And yet Fred blamed only himself for not 
having foreseen this dilemma. He should have 
known that Blake would not have entrusted a 
task so important and calling for so much gen- 
eralship to a subordinate, especially to one like 
Righter, who, whatever he possessed of craft 
and physical daring, was evidently not a man 
whose brain was to be depended upon in an 
emergency. Certainly Fred should have 
known that Blake would be on hand when the 
tug met the Manchester. 

Peering from his corner, Fred saw several 
men go forward past the door of the engine- 
room. Soon Righter limped by, his head half 
turned as he muttered something to the man 
who followed, and then this man passed — 
Charles Blake with his black brows contracted 
in an angry and anxious frown and one end of 
his heavy moustache held firmly between his 
clenched teeth. Then, as he reached the door 
of the engine-room, he put out his hand and 
touched Righter. The lame man stopped and, 
at a signal from Blake, returned a few steps, 
and they stood there talking earnestly, but in 
tones so low that Fred could not hear a word 
they were saying. 


34 


AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER 


“ I ’ve got to act now,” muttered the boy to 
himself. “ There ’s only one thing that they 
can be talking about at this minute and that 
is the errand they are on. What they are say- 
ing is most important for me to hear and if I 
don’t hear it now I never will.” 

Pie rose quickly and, avoiding the hand that 
Paddy weakly reached out to restrain him, tip- 
toed over to the door and crouched in the 
shadow to one side. He was just in time to 
hear Righter finish a sentence about making 
somebody behave with the end of a rope when 
Blake interrupted. 

“ Now see here, Righter,” said the Boss im- 
patiently, “ I want you to understand once and 
for all that there is to be no violence.” 

“ What’s the matter?” sneered the lame 
man. “ Getting chicken-hearted in your old 
age?” 

“ Not a bit of it,” answered Blake. “ It ’s 
just this. We ’re going down to meet him be- 
cause I ’ve closed my town house for the sum- 
mer and am roughing it down here for a while. 
That ’s what he ’s to think. You ’re the care- 
taker and, instead of making him behave with 
a rope’s end, you ’re to let him have his own 
way in everything in reason and see that he 
gets everything he wants. Understand ? ” 

35 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ Oh, I ’m on, all right," said the other. 
“ I ’m to be a sort of child's nurse and rock him 
to sleep and see that he says his prayers every 
night before I tuck him in bed. Say, I can 
see a picture of myself doing that." 

“ That ’s the idea," said Blake firmly, “ al- 
though you won’t have to carry it quite so far 
as that. All you ’ll have to do is to keep him 
quiet and happy and out of sight until after 
the sixteenth of the month. After that I don’t 
care what becomes of him, for he won’t be able 
to touch me nor a cent of the money." 

“ All right, Boss," agreed the other. “ What 
you say goes, and I guess I can do it so as to 
be worth all I ’m likely to get out of you for 
the job. Well, I ’ll be off and get things in 
shape. We ’ll expect you sometime to-morrow 
or next day." 

Righter beckoned to some one in the stern of 
the tug, and a man hauled the little gasoline 
launch alongside. He threw the line over a 
cleat of the tug and stood waiting until Righter 
was ready to get aboard. Blake and the lame 
man moved over to the gunwale and continued 
their talk in tones so low that they were out 
of ear shot of the crouching boy. Fred strained 
every nerve to catch what they were saying, but 
in vain. He had heard enough, however, to 
36 


AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER 


make his heart beat like a trip-hammer, and the 
hot blood raced through his veins as though it 
would burst them. 

There was no doubt in his mind that the 
two men had been talking about Walter Des- 
borough, and their conversation made it plain 
that the English lad would fare badly if their 
plans were carried through. 

The boy stood straight, moved back a step, 
and continued to watch the men from a little 
window. He could almost have reached out 
and touched the broad back of Blake as the Boss 
stooped over to help Righter into the launch. 
Soon he was aboard, there was a sputtering 
of gasoline, the line was cast off, and the 
smaller craft turned her nose toward the far 
distant shore, now barely discernible in the 
gathering dusk. Fred watched the launch until 
he could no longer make out the features of 
the evil-visaged man who sat in the stern. 
Then he glanced toward the Boss and his heart 
leaped into his mouth. Every muscle of his 
body seemed to grow rigid with fright, and his 
breath caught in his throat until he almost 
strangled. 

Charles Blake was looking him straight in 
the eyes. 


37 


CHAPTER V 


STRUCK FROM BEHIND 

Blake’s eyes blazed with a fury that boded 
ill for his victim. His mouth twitched horribly, 
and his lips curled back from his teeth like the 
lips of an angry beast. Fred was too stupefied 
to move. So sudden, so unexpected, was this 
disastrous termination to his eavesdropping, 
that his mind seemed numbed, and the power to 
think quickly had left him. He was totally at 
a loss what to say or do. He was completely 
in the power of this evil man who stood there 
glaring at him with all the hatred that it is 
possible for a human being to feel. 

Blake was the first to move. He stole, cat- 
like, past the window toward the stern of the 
tug, Fred’s eyes following him as though hyp- 
notized. Then the man beckoned him and or- 
dered in a hoarse whisper, “ Come here.” 

Mechanically Fred stepped out of the door 
to the deck that ran along the side of the cabin. 
He heard Paddy utter an exclamation of sur- 
38 


STRUCK FROM BEHIND 


prised horror, but the Irish boy did not know 
the predicament his friend had stumbled into. 
Paddy was crouched in a corner in such a way 
that he could not see out of the window. He 
did not know that Fred and Blake had met face 
to face and that the boy was going out of the 
engine-room at the command of the Boss. 

“ Come back here ! ” the Irish boy exclaimed, 
but Fred was out of ear shot and was follow- 
ing Blake to the stern of the tug. 

The man and the boy stood there alone. 
None of the crew was in sight, and the man at 
the wheel in the pilot house had his back turned, 
all his attention given to the steering of the 
vessel. Any one coming upon them suddenly 
could have seen without a word of explanation 
that the boy was completely in the man’s power 
and that he feared the consequences. 

Blake beckoned Fred to the rail of the boat. 

“ Sit down,” he snarled. 

Fred obeyed and waited tremblingly for 
what was to come. His face was white and 
drawn with anxiety, but his lips were firmly 
pressed together, and a determination to make 
a fight for it was written in every line of his 
expression. 

Blake planted himself in front of his vic- 
tim, knotting his bushy brows together so 
39 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

tightly that they met in an ominous arch over 
his eyes. 

“ Now, young fellow,” he said, “ you and I 
are going to have a talk, and I don’t believe 
it is going to be a pleasant one — not for you, 
at least.” 

He emitted a harsh chuckle that was indica- 
tive of anything but mirth. 

“ You see,” he went on, “ I happen to have 
the upper hand here, and nothing that you say 
or do will count. I ’m Boss with a big B on 
board this tug and I ’m going to show you that 
I ’m not a nice man when I ’m cross. And 
I ’m cross now, thanks to your infernal impu- 
dence, and I ’m going to make you pay dear 
for it.” 

Fred was rapidly regaining control of him- 
self as he saw the man working himself into a 
fury. He knew that, so long as the argument 
was confined to words, Blake would be no 
match for him, for the man’s ungovernable 
temper was bound to betray him. But would 
the argument be confined to words ? That was 
the danger that Fred faced, but he determined 
to put on his boldest front and not give the man 
the slightest hint of the fear that he secretly 
had as to the outcome. It was a most unfor- 
tunate place for such an encounter, for the 
40 


STRUCK FROM BEHIND 


cramped space in the stern of the tug gave no 
chance for Fred to use the agility and speed 
which might have given him an opportunity at 
least to get away in a more open spot. 

“ Now, first,” said Blake, “ you ’re a reporter 
on the Morning Call , are n’t you? ” 

“ No, sir,” said Fred, and he was glad that 
this, at least, was true. He was not a reporter 
— yet. He did not want to lie if he could 
help it, and he felt justified in this evasion of 
the strict truth. 

“ No, sir,” he repeated, “ I ’m not a re- 
porter.” 

“ Oh, you ’re not, eh? ” sneered Blake. “ I 
don’t suppose I saw you there this morning 
when I was in your dirty office. I don’t suppose 
I spoke to you or that you answered me. I 
don’t suppose that I ’m here now or that you ’re 
there. I don’t suppose that I know that you ’re 
in a tight hole and that you ’re lying to me to 
get out of it.” 

“ No, sir,” said Fred. “ I ’m not lying to 
you. You did see me in the office of the Morn- 
ing Call this morning and you did speak to me 
and I answered you. But I ’m not a reporter.” 

“ Not, eh? ” said Blake doubtingly. “ Then 
perhaps you ’ll be good enough to tell me what 
in Sam Hill you are.” 


4i 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ Certainly, sir,” said the boy. “ I ’m a tele- 
graph operator and I happen to be employed 
temporarily in the Call office. I am an oper- 
ator and nothing more.” 

“ I guess you ’re all tarred with the same 
stick, ” snarled the Boss. “ You ’re all news- 
paper men, and all newspaper men are a prying 
gang of impudent scoundrels. I ’d have every 
one of ’em strung up by the neck if I had my 
way.” 

“ Then it ’s fortunate for them that you 
have n’t your way.” 

“ I haven’t, eh? Well, I’ve got my way 
with one of the beasts at least, and he ’d better 
keep a civil tongue in his head or it ’ll go pretty 
bad for him. Do you get my meaning? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said the boy, who regretted that 
he had needlessly aroused the wrath of his 
enemy. “ I beg your pardon, I ’m sure, but I 
meant no offense.” 

“ Say,‘ young fellow, you ’re too blamed po- 
lite,” said the Boss. “ You just keep your 
tongue to answer my questions, and I ’ll make 
the rules and regulations that ’ll govern this 
pleasant little debate. Now let ’s get back to 
the point. I want to know what you ’re doing 
on board this tug and I don’t want any lies, 
because they won’t go down. See? ” 

42 


STRUCK FROM BEHIND 


“ Well, sir/’ answered Fred, “ I 'm sure there 
is no reason why I should not explain my pres- 
ence here. I am sorry that it is evidently so 
annoying to you, but the truth is that I simply 
asked my roommate, Paddy O'Day, the engi- 
neer's boy, if I could n't come down the river 
with him for a trip. My vacation begins to- 
day, and I don't know any pleasanter way of 
spending a holiday than on the water." 

This was also true. According to Fred's 
bargain with Mr. Ball, this was to be considered 
his vacation if he failed. 

“ On the water, eh ? " sneered Blake. 
“You'll be lucky if you don't spend it in 
the water. Do you think that story goes 
with me ? " 

“Why don't you ask Paddy?" suggested 
Fred. He felt safe in offering this advice, for 
the interview was not one that the Boss would 
care to have overheard by one of his employees. 

“ We 'll leave Paddy out of this," snapped 
Blake. “ This is a matter entirely between 
you and me. Besides, I guess you and Paddy 
have made up the story between you and he 
has his part well rehearsed. I 'll attend to his 
case as soon as we get back to town and I 'll 
guarantee it 'll be many a long day before he 
asks another sneaking newspaper man aboard 
43 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

one of the tugs of my company. No, sir, you 
and I will settle this ourselves, and your story 
does n’t go. Try another yarn.” 

“ Mr. Blake, I have n’t any other yarn, as 
you choose to call it. What I have told you — ” 

“ Look here ! ” almost shouted the Boss, 
white with sudden wrath. “ This fooling has 
gone far enough. You know why you are on 
this tug and I know why, so what ’s the use 
of mincing matters ? You ’re here because that 
infernal city editor sent you here to hunt down 
his absurd suspicions about Walter Desbor- 
ough. I heard that he was suspicious and I 
called on him to-day to tell him, as I tell you 
now, that there is no secrecy about Walter’s 
movements and that any one trying to make 
trouble for me out of such a cock and bull 
story will get more than they bargained for.” 

Fred tried to stem the rising tide of Blake’s 
anger. 

“ Your visit to the office must have been 
more successful than you imagine, sir,” he said. 
“ I heard Mr. Ball say that you had explained 
the whole thing to him satisfactorily and that 
he was convinced that there was nothing in 
the suspicions that he had formed. I believe 
he said that you are Walter’s uncle.” 

• “ That ’s what I am,” exclaimed Blake, “ and 
44 


STRUCK FROM BEHIND 


your prying city editor, or whatever he is, had 
better be satisfied if he knows what ’s good 
for him. What did he send you down here 
for if he ’s satisfied? Tell me that, will you? ” 

Blake scowled suspiciously at the boy, but 
it was evident that Fred’s statements had some- 
what allayed his distrust. 

“ He did n’t send me down here,” said Fred. 
“ I came of my own accord to spend the first 
day of my vacation on the water.” 

That also was true, strictly speaking, though 
its meaning would be entirely changed should 
Fred succeed. 

Blake walked over to the side of the tug 
and stood for a long time chewing the ends of 
his moustache and peering through the gather- 
ing dusk that hid the distant shore of the river. 
He was evidently still undecided whether to 
accept the lad’s story at its face value. His 
own nature was so suspicious and so deceitful 
in its relations to others that he found it hard 
to believe any one honest. Finally he turned 
slowly toward the boy and said: 

“ You stay where you are until I come back. 
I ’m going forward to think this thing over, 
and if I decide that what you say is true, I 
won’t do anything worse to you than hold you 
a prisoner in the cabin until we get back to 
45 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

the city and then turn you over to the police 
for trespassing on the company's private prop- 
erty. But if I decide that your yarn is all 
a lie ” — he raised his clenched fist in the air 
over the boy’s head and his voice swelled in 
a sudden burst of renewed anger — “ then, by 
Heaven, this will be the sorriest day’s work 
that you ever did, for on board this tug I am in 
supreme command and I ’ll deal with you as 
I ’d deal with the slimy snake that I believe you 
to be.” 

He turned abruptly and strode forward un- 
til he was out of sight of the boy he had 
threatened. 

Fred sat dejectedly where Blake had left 
him. His chances of success were now very 
slim indeed, and he would be fortunate if he 
escaped without bodily injury. He knew that 
Blake would hesitate at nothing ; the man was, 
as he had said, in supreme command on the 
tug, and it was more than likely that his sub- 
ordinates were men of his own choosing who 
would obey him implicitly, even to the extent 
of risking their own liberty to carry out any 
project that he set them upon. 

Fred rose and stretched his cramped legs. 
He stood in the stern, gazing back across the 
broad, dark river that stretched endlessly away 
46 


STRUCK FROM BEHIND 


on every side until it was lost in the gloom of 
the evening twilight. Far to the north, barely 
discernible through the darkness, was a yellow 
glow in the sky, dull and heavy through the 
mist, but representing to the boy all that meant 
safety and comfort and hope. It was the glow 
from the myriad lights of the great city they 
had left, and Fred wondered what further trials 
and dangers would be his lot before he should 
once again walk its streets. 

He breathed a silent prayer for guidance and 
protection and was about to turn and rejoin 
Paddy, when he heard a step behind him. Be- 
fore he could do a thing to save himself, he 
was struck violently in the back, squarely be- 
tween the shoulders, the breath was completely 
knocked from his body, and he was sent head- 
long into the deep, angry waters of the river. 


47 


CHAPTER VI 


A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 

So totally unexpected was the blow that 
plunged Fred into the water that he had no 
time to fill his lungs with air before he was 
deep under the surface. The jar of the assault 
had completely knocked the wind from his body, 
and when at last, after what seemed an eternity, 
he struggled above the waves, he could do 
nothing but sputter and strive to regain his 
lost breath. So, by the time he was able to 
consider his position at all, he found that the 
tug was only a dim and blurred mass rapidly 
fading into the gloom, only her stern light and 
the glow from the cabins showing in fast fad- 
ing brilliancy as she made her way, full speed 
ahead, down the river, leaving the boy alone to 
face almost certain death in the waters that 
stretched upon all sides of him. 

It was a position to appall a sturdier swim- 
mer than Fred Spencer. The river at this 
48 


A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 


point was nearly if not quite two miles across, 
its wider mouth opened into the bay only a 
short distance below, and the strong high waves 
that rolled in were chopped and made doubly 
dangerous to any one in his predicament. 

Fred was a good swimmer for short dis- 
tances, but he had never had the opportunity to 
cultivate endurance nor, indeed, did he have 
the physical build to cope with such an emer- 
gency. Paddy had taught him the fine points 
of the waterman's art, and he would have had 
little fear of the outcome had the shore been 
within a reasonable distance and, more impor- 
tant still, had he been able to divest himself 
of his clothes before his plunge. 

He turned in desperation toward the lights 
of the tug and sent cry after cry for help in 
her direction. There was no answer. He fan- 
cied he saw the dim shadow of a man in the 
stern, and he knew that, if it really were a man, 
it could be no other than Charles Blake. But 
the distance was too great and the light too 
dim for him to be certain of anything about the 
vessel except the discouraging fact that she 
would in a few minutes be entirely out of his 
sight and that he would be left alone to 
struggle against the gigantic strength of the 
riven 


49 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ Paddy ! Pa-a-a-dd-ee ! ” he cried in a 
despairing wail, but there was no reply. 

The stern light of the Vixen blinked dimly 
once or twice, the glow of the cabins faded, and 
soon there was nothing left for him to see ex- 
cept the black and angry sky above and the 
remorseless expanse of the heaving river on 
all sides. 

“ I guess this is the end of the great Des- 
borough story,” thought the boy as he began 
swimming slowly toward the western shore. 
“ I made a good attempt, but I proved myself 
a fool and I deserve what I am getting. Oh,” 
he cried aloud in his regret, “ if I only had 
heeded Paddy’s advice and stayed safely in that 
corner.” 

Vain remorse for other mistakes came 
crowding into his mind, but he resolutely 
put them aside and turned his attention solely 
to the danger that confronted him. He realized 
that it would take all the courage he could 
muster to escape the fate that lay around him, 
and he struck out manfully, telling himself over 
and over again that escape was not impossible 
and that, with nerve and a judicious saving of 
his strength, he could reach the shore or at 
least keep afloat until he couldrhail some pass- 
ing craft and be taken from the water. 

5o 


A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 


His soaked clothing now began to drag him 
down like so much weight of lead, and he re- 
membered the exercise that Paddy had taught 
him for just such an emergency. He turned 
upon his back and, keeping himself afloat with 
his left leg, began untying the laces of his right 
shoe. They were swollen with the water and 
he was impelled several times in desperation to 
tear them apart by main strength, but this was 
one thing that Paddy had cautioned him against, 
so he worked with patience and at last had 
the satisfaction of feeling one of the strings 
slip through the knot. The rest was easy. 
Soon he had the shoe entirely off and repeated 
the operation with the right foot. The choppy 
waves splashed in his face and choked him once 
or twice, but perseverance won, and it was a 
great relief when he felt his stockinged feet, 
lighter, it seemed, by many pounds, glide 
through the water with greater ease and with 
far more propelling power. 

Next, the boy turned his attention to the 
coat. The wet cloth stuck to him and bound 
his arms so that he made his strokes only with 
the greatest difficulty. Treading water with 
both feet, he slowly worked the left hand free 
from the sleeve, the coat was swung around 
to his right side, and in a few moments he 
5i 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

dropped it from him and let it float away on 
the water. No sooner had he done so than he 
regretted it. In the pockets of his coat were 
his credentials and his papers full of notes 
he had made as his quest progressed, and, 
greatest loss of all, perhaps, his pocket-book 
containing every cent that he possessed in the 
world. It was too late to recover it. The coat 
had floated a few feet from him and had passed 
out of sight and reach in the darkness. 

“ Now I ’m in for it,” thought the boy. 
“ Suppose I do get out of this, what can I do 
without money and without any paper of any 
kind to prove that I am on the Morning Calif 
That was as stupid a thing as I have done yet, 
but I ’ll have to let it go.” 

Swimming was now much easier, and he re- 
sumed his course for the western shore. He 
seemed to have been struggling uninterruptedly 
for hours when at last he paused long enough 
to find out if he could yet see land. There was 
nothing in sight. Everywhere sky and water 
and nothing else. Again he paused and peered 
through the darkness, and this time he was re- 
warded. Some distance up the river he saw 
three lights — one, higher than the others, 
white, and under it, two abreast, one red, the 
other green. He knew that they must be the 
52 


A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 


lights of a vessel of some kind, and the fact 
that he could see both the red and green proved 
that she was coming toward him. Fred gave 
a little shout of joy and rested easily, moving 
only enough to keep him afloat. As the strange 
vessel neared, he gave a long shout, treading 
water and making a trumpet of his two hands. 

“ He-e-lp ! ” he shouted lustily. 

Down she came upon him, nearer and nearer, 
until he could see the framework at the top of 
the pilot house under the white light. 

“ He-e-e-lp ! ” he shouted again. 

The wind whistled shrilly over his head and 
carried his cry away from the approaching 
boat. Again and again the boy shouted, but 
suddenly his heart sank and he felt that now, 
indeed, all hope was lost. He could see only 
the red light. The green had disappeared, 
showing that the craft had swung to starboard 
and would pass him far to the west. He 
shouted until his throat was sore and his 
strength had almost given out, but the boat 
kept serenely on her way until she was lost to 
sight in the darkness down the river. 

Almost divested of his courage, Fred turned 
once more to the task ahead of him. He was 
weak from his long exposure and his struggles. 
He was almost tempted to give up the fight and 
53 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


let himself sink beneath the waves. But the 
thought of the choking water and the horrible 
death that it meant instilled new life into him, 
and he struck out again, determined to battle 
to the end and sink at last, if at all, only because 
his strength was not equal to the task imposed 
upon it. 

The black clouds overhead began to scatter, 
and it grew more light upon the water. Soon 
the moon peeped out in fitful gleams and 
lighted the river for some yards about the boy. 
He looked again toward the shore and thought 
he saw the faint outline of trees against the 
distant horizon. Encouraged by even this 
slight hope, he renewed his efforts, and it was 
many minutes before he paused again to take 
his bearings. 

Yes, there could be no doubt of it this time. 
The trees stood plainly silhouetted against the 
lightening sky and they were not so far away 
as he had at first thought. He settled now to 
a long, easy, steady stroke that taxed his 
strength as little as possible and determined 
not to look again until the strain began to tell 
upon him. His progress was slow but sure. 
In near the shore as he now was, the waves 
were not so choppy and the wind did not bother 
him as it had in the open river. He felt his 
54 


A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 


hands and feet growing numb, but resolutely 
fought back the fear of failure, for he knew 
that it was now a matter of minutes only when 
he should be safe on shore if only his courage 
held out. 

Again he paused to take his bearings. 
There, on the shore, clearly and distinctly, 
shone a light. Fred shouted. This time 
there was no contrary wind to drive the 
sound back upon him. The light moved. 
The boy shouted again. The light swung 
back and forth. It was a lantern. Somebody 
on shore had heard him and was signaling 
him. 

Again and again Fred shouted for help, 
and an answer came to him across the water, 
faint and indistinguishable, but still unmis- 
takably the sound of a man’s voice. The 
light hurried swiftly toward the left as though 
the man were running; it paused a few mo- 
ments, and then came toward him, its regu- 
lar rise and fall showing that it was now 
in a boat and that Fred’s deliverance was 
near. 

As the boy realized that his danger was prac- 
tically over and that he was to escape the 
awful fate that had surrounded him, his 
strength suddenly gave way completely. His 
55 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

head swam around, and myriad lights danced 
before his eyes. He struggled desperately to 
regain control of himself, but the effort was 
too great, and, as he uttered a last despairing 
cry, he lost consciousness and sank beneath the 
water. 


56 


CHAPTER VII 


PADDY IS PUZZLED 

Paddy O’Day was dumfounded when he saw 
Fred Spencer walk deliberately out of the en- 
gine-room door to the deck of the tug, where, 
only a few minutes before, Charles Blake had 
landed from the launch. 

“ Sure he ’s gone clean crazy,” muttered the 
Irish boy. “ I would n’t mind his enjoying him- 
self, only I ’ll be brought into this, as my great- 
uncle said when he saw the warden tying the 
noose. I guess I ’ll be hunting another job 
to-morrow if Blake does n’t kill me entirely 
to-day.” 

Paddy knew that further attempts at conceal- 
ment would be useless, so he rose from his 
cramped position in the corner and walked over 
to the door. He looked fore and aft along the 
deck, but he could see nothing of his friend. 

“ Where ’s he gone to ? ” he exclaimed. “ Do 
you suppose he ’s up there in the pilot house, 
having tea with Blake ? ’T would be a sorry 
57 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

cup of tea they ’d be having together, I ’m 
thinking.” 

He paused and listened intently, as he 
thought he caught the sound of voices from 
the stern. Yes, there could be no doubt of it. 
Two people were there, and, as their voices 
rose higher and higher in pitch, it was evident 
to the listener that the conversation was far 
from a friendly one. He could not catch any 
of the words, but, as he listened, straining every 
nerve, he became convinced that one voice was 
that of Fred Spencer and the other, Charles 
Blake. 

“ Begorrah, that ’ll be an interesting argu- 
ment,” he muttered. “If the Boss lives up to 
his reputation, this will be a nice little holiday 
for Freddy boy and a long vacation to come 
for yours truly, Patrick O’Shea O’Day. And 
me not able to get a job yet as a telegraph 
operator. I ’ll be lucky if I ’m not blacking 
boots before this day’s work is done.” 

He tried again to distinguish the words that 
were being spoken by the two in the stern, but 
their voices were lowered again and he could 
make out nothing. 

“ Will ye be standin’ there all avenin’ an’ 
lettin’ me do all the work?” his Uncle Mike 
called to him angrily. 

58 


PADDY IS PUZZLED 


Paddy jumped as though struck and went 
back to his place in the engine room. 

“ Phwat ’s yer friend doin’ out there on the 
deck?” demanded Uncle Mike. “ Did n’t ye 
tell him he must kape out av sight if I let 
him come aboard ? ” 

“ I did,” said Paddy. “ He would n’t be out 
there now only the Boss wanted to talk with 
him about a little matter they ’re both inter- 
ested in up in the city.” 

“ Humph,” grunted Uncle Mike. “ Friend 
av the Boss, is he ? ” 

“ Well,” hesitated Paddy, “ only in a man- 
ner of speaking. They ’ve met a couple of 
times on a little matter of business. You see, 
these telegraph operators have got to be mixed 
up in all kinds of things, and they know more 
of other people’s business than you or I ever 
know' because they see all about it in the tele- 
grams that they send for people.” 

“ Tiligrams or no tiligrams, it ’s little he ’ll 
know about the Boss’ business, I ’m thinkin’,” 
said Uncle Mike. “ He might send a tiligram 
fer the Boss meanin’ wan thing whin he sint 
it an’ it ’d mean somethin’ else entirely whin it 
got to the other end. Is it a tiligram he ’s 
sendin’ now fer the Boss ? ” 

“ No,” laughed Paddy. “ You can’t send 
59 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


telegrams unless you have wires to carry the 
message, from one place to the other. They do 
use wireless now-a-days, but you have to have 
special outfits for that.” 

“ It must be a bum thing/’ declared Uncle 
Mike. “ What ’s the use av it if ye have to 
have wires? Sure, a good boy could carry a 
message as fast as ye could roll it along on a 
wire.” 

Uncle Mike shook his head in disapproval 
and turned again to his work. Paddy watched 
anxiously for a chance to look out of the door 
again, but his duties kept him busy until sud- 
denly Charles Blake himself appeared in the 
entrance. 

“ O’Day,” he said, “ come out here with me. 
I want to speak to you a minute.” 

Paddy felt the cold chills run down his spine. 

“ I ’m in for it now,” thought the boy. “ I 
wish Fred and I had got ready for a mess like 
this and made up a story that we could both 
tell so that it would look like the truth. Oh, 
well, Fred ’ll help me out when he sees I ’m 
stuck.” 

He followed the Boss out of the door and to 
the stern of the tug, where, only a few minutes 
before, Blake and Fred Spencer had had the 
talk that ended so dangerously to the boy. 

60 


PADDY IS PUZZLED 


Paddy, of course, knew nothing of this ending. 
He fully expected to find his friend waiting for 
them and he uttered an ejaculation of surprise 
when he saw the vacant deck. 

“ What 's the matter ? ” growled Blake. 

“ Nothing, sir,” hesitated Paddy, “ only I 
sort of expected to see some one else here.” 

“ Well,” said Blake, “ it 's about that some 
one else that I want to talk to you. In the 
first place I want to know how you dared bring 
a stranger on board this tug. You know my 
rules, don't you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” repeated the boy. 

“And you know what happens to an em- 
ployee who breaks those rules, don't you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” repeated the boy. 

“Very well, then. We can consider that 
part of the matter understood. You will get 
whatever pay is due you when we get back 
to the city and sever your connection with the 
Maritime Steamship Company. We don't want 
people like you working for us.” 

Paddy's heart sank, though he had fully ex- 
pected his discharge. He had had no special 
training for any work, and the position on board 
the tug, small as was the pay, was the best one 
that was open to him. He foresaw many weeks 
of hopelessness looking for another job, but it 
61 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

was too late for regrets and he felt sure that 
in the end he would be successful. 

“ Now,” said Blake, and his voice was very 
firm and had a threatening note, “ I want to 
know why your friend wanted to come aboard 
the Vixen on this particular trip. I warn you 
not to lie to me, for if you do I shall know it 
and it will go hard with you. Why did your 
friend want to come with you on this particular 
trip? ” 

“ I don’t know that there was any special 
reason,” said Paddy. He had no way of telling 
how much of the truth Blake had learned, so 
he decided that his best plan was to feign entire 
ignorance of everything. 

“ You don’t know? ” sneered Blake. “ Then 
why did you bring him ? ” 

“ He just asked me to take him,” said Paddy, 
“ and I saw no harm in it. I ’ve done it before, 
sir, and no one said anything to me about it.” 

“ I don’t care what you ’ve done before,” 
thundered the Boss in violent anger. “ It might 
not have mattered before, but this trip it does.” 

“ Why, sir ? ” asked Paddy innocently. 
“Are we going to do anything special this 
trip? ” 

Blake bit his lips. He was furious. 

“ You keep your questions to yourself,” he 
62 


PADDY IS PUZZLED 


roared. “Dll do all the questioning and you 
answer me or I 'll — " 

He raised his clenched fist above the boy's 
head, but recovered his self-control before he 
struck, and his hand fell limply to his side. 

“That fellow's a reporter, isn't he?" he 
asked. 

“ No, sir," truthfully answered Paddy. 

“ He 's not, eh? ” sneered the man. “ Well, 
he 's a newspaper telegraph operator and it 's 
all the same thing to me. I didn't want him 
here and I put him off. I put him into the 
launch with Righter, and he 'll be in jail for 
trespass by the time you get back to the city, so 
you need n’t be surprised if you don't find him 
when you get home. I gave Righter orders 
to prosecute him at once. That 's all. Now, 
you get back to your work and remember that 
your service with this company ends just as 
soon as we get back to our dock." 

Blake turned on his heel and strode forward 
until he was lost to sight around the curve of 
the cabins. Paddy watched him go and stood 
in silence for a long time after the man had 
disappeared. He did not know what to do 
or say. With Fred away and his position gone, 
the Irish lad was in anything but a pleasant 
situation. 


63 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


And then the thought of Blake’s words over- 
whelmed him. Fred in jail! That, indeed, was 
the final crushing blow. Paddy had only a 
vague notion of the law and its penalties, but 
he knew that trespass was a crime and that a 
person could be arrested for it. He had no 
doubt that Blake had told him the truth. It 
would be just like the Boss to send a boy to 
prison for displeasing him as Fred had done, 
and Paddy was hopeless indeed as he returned 
to his work in the engine room. 

“ Been helpin’ thim sind thim tiligrams?” 
asked his Uncle Mike. 

“ No,” answered Paddy. “ The Boss gave 
me a lecture for bringing Fred on board. I 
guess I ’ll get fired.” 

“ An’ serve ye right, too,” grunted the man. 
“ Where ’s yer friend now? ” 

“ Mr. Blake put him ashore,” said the boy 
sullenly. 

“ Put him ashore, is it? asked Uncle Mike, 
suddenly turning and facing his young relative. 
“ Sure how could he get him ashore, at all ? 
Did he sind him be one of thim tiligrams? ” 

“ He went in the launch with Righter,” said 
Paddy, still in bad humor. 

Uncle Mike looked at him keenly. 

“ Who ’s after tellin’ ye that? ” he demanded. 
64 


PADDY IS PUZZLED 


“ Mr. Blake.” 

“ Well, Blake ’s lyin’ to ye. Shure, the 
launch cast off and I got me bell fer ‘ full speed 
ahead ’ long before Fred wint out on the deck.” 

Paddy looked at his uncle with a mingling 
of astonishment and fear. Now that he thought 
of it, Uncle Mike’s words were true. Where, 
then, was Fred? What had Blake done with 
him? He turned in despair to his uncle for 
advice. 

“ Then why did Blake tell me he had put 
him ashore?” he asked fiercely. “ What do 
you suppose he has done with him ? ” 

“ How should I know ? ” asked Uncle Mike. 
“ Ye say they had some business togither? ” 

“ Oh, I only called it business. As a matter 
of fact they hate each other, and Blake did n’t 
want Fred aboard the tug to-day.” 

“ So-o-o.” Uncle Mike pursed his lips, and 
his forehead wrinkled in a scowl of perplexity. 
“ Thin I ’d rather be mesilf right now thin yer 
smart tiligraphin’ friend, I ’ll tell ye.” 

“ Do you suppose Blake ’s had him locked 
up?” demanded Paddy. He was afraid to 
voice the fear that he inwardly felt of a more 
dangerous punishment. 

“ That ’s about what he ’s done, I ’m think- 
in’,” said Uncle Mike. “ He ’s got him stowed 

65 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

away up for’ard in one iv the cabins, an’ it ’ll 
be a sad day indade fer Mr. Fred whin we git 
ashore, fer the Boss ’ll have him locked up as 
sure as yer name ’s Paddy O’Day.” 

Hour after hour Paddy worked in silence 
as the engines throbbed their way down the 
bay. Fie felt that it would seem to him an 
endless time before they reached the open sea 
and met the ship that they were expecting. He 
was troubled over the fate of Fred. He forced 
himself to accept the explanation given by his 
uncle, for, indeed, he could not have restrained 
himself had he allowed his other fears to get 
the upper hand. Blake, as he knew, was a des- 
perate man who would stop at nothing to gain 
his ends, and the wide and deserted part of the 
river where his talk with Fred had occurred 
offered him an excellent opportunity to do any- 
thing he pleased without fear of detection. 

Paddy’s thoughts were interrupted by the 
loud clang of the bell as it signaled for the 
engines to stop. It was an unexpected order, 
and, as the wheels came to a standstill, he 
ran to the door and looked out. There, almost 
above him, towered the huge mass of the ship 
they were looking for. 

“ It ’s the Manchester,” he announced to 
Uncle Mike. “ She must have made a better 
66 


PADDY IS PUZZLED 


run than they expected. I thought we had a 
long way to go yet before we sighted her.” 

Instantly all was hustle and bustle aboard 
the tug. Paddy stood at the doorway, an in- 
terested spectator as the crew of the tug low- 
ered a rowboat from the davits and he saw 
the men take to their oars and row away toward 
the ship. Soon they returned, bringing with 
them several men closely wrapped in great- 
coats to protect them from the chilly air. The 
boat was again hoisted upon the davits, the 
bell given for “ full speed ahead/’ and, with 
a long, graceful sweep, the Vixen was plow- 
ing her way back to the city from which she 
had come. 

Paddy, tired and worried, turned into his 
bunk for a short and troubled sleep. Day was 
beginning to lighten the east, and the boy was 
worn in mind and body. He lay tossing about 
on his hard bed for hours, but his sleep was 
far from restful, and he arose, at the call of 
his uncle, to begin the work allotted to him on 
the run home. 

He took a bucket and went out on deck, 
scooping up the river water to bathe his hot 
face and hands. Two or three times he re- 
peated the operation, gaining fresh strength as 
the water splashed over him. Then he stood 
67 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

looking ahead of them up the river, wondering 
what awaited him at the dock for which they 
were bound. 

“ It ’s my last trip with you, old Vixen” he 
muttered affectionately to the tug he had come 
to love. “ It ’s my last trip with you, I ’m 
afraid, and Heaven only knows where I shall 
be this time next week.” 

There was no sign of life aboard the 
craft save the man at the wheel, and Paddy 
walked to the bow, standing as far forward 
as he could climb, and breathing in deeply 
as the heaving deck rose and fell with the 
waves. 

He gazed unseeing at the broad expanse of 
river ahead, his thoughts busy with the 
gloomy future, until he became conscious of 
something floating on the water directly in 
the path of the onrushing tug. Paddy’s 
heart jumped, for it looked unpleasantly like 
a man’s body. He turned and seized a boat- 
hook, lunged forward barely in time, and 
arose, dragging from the water a soaking and 
shapeless coat. 

“ Hello,” he exclaimed, as he pulled it in 
and examined it. “ Some one ’s getting care- 
less with their clothes. This is a good — ” 

Paddy turned white to the roots of his hair. 

68 


PADDY IS PUZZLED 


His head swam around and he clutched the rail 
for support. 

His worst fears were realized. The coat 
that he had dragged from the river belonged 
to his friend, Fred Spencer. 


69 


CHAPTER VIII 


GROPING IN THE DARK 

The sun came up clear and hot out of the 
east, and the crew began to stir about on board 
the tug, but still Paddy stood in the bow, the 
dripping coat in his hand and his eyes, wide 
open but unseeing, gazing straight ahead of 
him into the thin mist that still lay over the 
river far to the north. He could not frame his 
thoughts into words. His mind still seemed 
numbed with the shock that had come as he 
realized the meaning of Fred Spencer’s coat 
floating in the water. Beyond that his thoughts 
would not go. His faculties were deadened 
and he stood there, seeing nothing, hearing 
nothing, knowing nothing of all that was pass- 
ing around him on board the vessel. 

One of the men came up to him and slapped 
him heartily on the shoulder. 

“ What’s the matter, Paddy my boy?” he 
asked roughly but kindly. “ You look as if 
you ’d seen a ghost.” 


70 


GROPING IN THE DARK 


Paddy jumped as though shot. He blinked 
at the man in perplexity, and it seemed im- 
possible for him to get his thoughts together. 

“ No, I — I — I was just thinking,” he 
faltered. 

“ Better get in and get some breakfast,” 
said the man. “ You look as if you ’d been up 
all night.” 

He left the boy and disappeared into the 
cabin. Paddy brushed his hand across his eyes 
as though there were something in front of 
him through which he could not see. He had 
not yet come to a full realization of his position, 
but, at least, he was becoming conscious of 
the necessity for action of some kind, so he 
rolled the coat into as small a bundle as pos- 
sible, tucked it under his arm, and returned to 
the engine room. 

“ Shure, ye ’ve been gone so long, I thought 
ye was drownded entirely,” said Uncle Mike. 
“ What was up ? Been havin’ another pleasant 
talk wid the Boss?” 

“ No,” answered Paddy sullenly. 

He tucked his bundle into a corner out of 
sight and went about his duties listlessly, his 
mind gradually waking to the problem that con- 
fronted him. He felt at first impelled to con- 
fide at once in Uncle Mike and ask his advice ; 

7i 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

then caution whispered to him and he deter- 
mined to hold his counsel until his plans were 
fully laid. 

“Ye’ve had yer breakfast, I suppose?” 
asked the engineer. 

“ No,” said Paddy. 

Uncle Mike turned and eyed him curiously. 
The man had never shown much affection for 
this youthful relative, but under his rough 
exterior beat a heart as tender as a woman’s 
when his sympathies were appealed to, and he 
now saw that Paddy was deeply troubled and 
sorely in need of comfort. 

“ Don’t ye be worryin’ about the job,” he 
said kindly, thinking that that was what 
troubled the lad. “ Shure I know ivry engineer 
on the river, an’ it ’ll be small throuble I ’ll be 
havin’ gettin’ ye another berth inside av an 
hour after we git back. Cheer up, me b’y. 
I ’ll see ye don’t want fer anythin’.” 

“ It is n’t the job,” cried Paddy fiercely, his 
pent up feelings getting the better of him. “ I 
don’t care if I never do another stroke of 
work.” 

Uncle Mike very carefully set down an oil 
can that he had in his hand. He wiped his 
grimy fingers on his overalls and, walking over 
to the boy, laid a kindly arm about his shoul- 
72 


GROPING IN THE DARK 


ders, forcing him gently but firmly to a seat 
beside him. 

“ Now look ye here, me b’y,” he said slowly, 
“ yer Uncle Mike ’s never bin what ye might 
call overly affect’inate wid ye, but he thinks a 
heap av ye all the same. An’, by the same 
token, he ’s goin’ to show it to ye now when 
ye ’ve told him all that ’s worryin’ ye deep down 
in the heart av ye. An’ yer goin’ t’ tell it to 
’im right away, so we c’n talk it all over quiet 
an’ confidential like an’ find out what ’s best P 
be done. Come, now, out wid it,” 

The man’s unexpected kindness was too 
much for the overwrought nerves of the boy. 
Paddy choked back a sob or two, for he was 
nearer tears than he had been in many a long 
day and he brushed the suspicious moisture 
from his eyes. He rose and walked over to 
the corner, took up the bundle that he had 
hidden there, and, unrolling it, held the wet 
coat up before the man. 

“ I fished that out of the water this morning 
at daybreak,” he said. “ It ’s Fred Spencer’s.” 

Uncle Mike slowly took the coat without a 
word. He turned it over and over and ex- 
amined it carefully and then emitted a long 
whistle of astonishment. Silently he got to 
his feet and walked to the door. He stood 
73 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

there for so long that Paddy wondered what 
he was doing, but finally the man turned and 
came back to the seat he had left. 

“ We ’re a bit below where we were last 
night whin ye missed Fred,” he said. “ It was 
some distance down that ye found th’ coat. 
Well, th’ up tide was about half done when 
he left. That carried th’ coat up th’ river a 
bit. Thin th’ tide turned and it ’s bin cornin’ 
down iver since. That would bring it about 
right.” 

“ Bring what about right? ” asked the puz- 
zled boy. 

“ It ’d show that Fred was chucked over- 
board pretty soon after he left th’ engine 
room.” 

Paddy shuddered. 

“ Then you, too, think that Blake — ” 

“ Tut, tut, lad,” warned his uncle. “ We ’ll 
both be doin’ a bit av thinkin’, but it ’s best t’ 
think it all out first an’ talk whin we feel shure 
what we ’re talkin’ about. Lave me in peace 
a bit.” 

The engineer turned again to his work, shak- 
ing his head from time to time, and it was 
evident that his mind was busily occupied with 
the problem that Paddy had placed before him. 
Soon he turned to the boy and asked: 

7A 


GROPING IN THE DARK 


“ C’d Fred swim much? ” 

“ He was a good swimmer/’ answered 
Paddy. “ I ’ve been thinking that over myself. 
I taught him the trick that he must have used 
to get his coat off. It could n’t have gotten off 
any other way. That shows that he at least 
made a try for the shore, but the river was 
very heavy and rough yesterday, as you will 
remember, and we were a long distance from 
land.” 

“ Oh, well,” said Uncle Mike with a re- 
assuring smile, “if he was a mod’rit good 
swimmer an’ he started out, ye c’n bet some boat 
’r other picked him up. TIT river was full av 
thim, I remember.” 

Paddy’s heart leaped with sudden hope. 

“ You think so? ” he asked eagerly. “ Then 
there ’s nothing to do but wait till I get home 
and then won’t we make it hot for Mr. Charles 
Blake!” 

“ Aisy — aisy,” warned his uncle. “ Sich 
talk as that ’s all right fer th’ likes iv Blake, 
but not fer a b’y like you. Do you be thankful 
t’ git ’im back an’ don’t be thinkin’ av revinge. 
Ye ’ll find Mr. Fred safe at home whin we git 
there, I ’m thinkin’.” 

Paddy’s heart grew lighter each minute as 
his uncle’s words became more and more con- 
75 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

vincing. He knew that Fred would make a 
game fight for his life in the water, and the 
chances were good that some craft had sighted 
him before it was too late. Paddy would wait 
until he arrived at the boarding house before 
worrying any more. 

They had been pounding their way steadily 
up the river without incident when, without 
warning, the bell rang for the engines to stop. 
Wheezing and puffing, the machinery came to 
a halt, and Paddy ran to the door. He stepped 
out upon the deck, looking all about him, but 
he could see nothing on the river. Then he 
noticed the face of Charles Blake in the side 
window of the pilot house. The man was lean- 
ing far forward, peering eagerly toward the 
shore. He was evidently expecting some one, 
for he turned to the man at the wheel and 
ordered : 

“ Just hold her here. They'll be along 
presently. They were n't expecting us so 
soon." 

Paddy saw another form moving close to 
Blake, and, as it turned, he saw that it was a 
boy about his own age, tall and slim and with 
a wealth of curling, fair hair that gave his 
features almost an effeminate expression. 
Paddy had never seen the lad before and he 
76 


GROPING IN THE DARK 


wondered who he might be, when suddenly he 
remembered the object of their quest. 

“ That’s Walter Desborough as sure as 
shooting/' he muttered to himself. “ Now, if 
Fred was only here, we might get at the truth 
of the whole matter/’ 

The tug lay rocking on the swell of the 
water, and Paddy, following the direction of 
Blake’s eyes, strained every faculty to catch 
a glimpse of anything ashore. 

“ There they come,” exclaimed Blake. 
Paddy saw a little gasoline launch shoot out 
seemingly from the very midst of the trees 
that lined the river. He heard the faint toot 
of its whistle as it turned its nose straight for 
the tug and then he heard Blake say: 

“ Come along, Walter. Right over there is 
where we are going. We ’ll be there in a jiffy, 
and I think we ’ll find everything snug and 
shipshape waiting for us.” 

Paddy stepped back into the engine-room. 
He did not care to have Blake catch him eaves- 
dropping and he knew he could watch every- 
thing without being seen. 

“ So that ’s where you ’re going to hide him, 
is it, Mr. Blake?” he muttered to himself. 
“ Well, we ’ll just take our bearings so that 
your friend the reporter can find you when he 
wants to look for you.” 

77 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


He went up to the chart that hung on the 
wall of the engine-room and stood before it. 

“ Uncle Mike/' he said, “ please come here 
and show me on this chart exactly where we 
are.” 

Uncle Mike peered out of the window and 
took his bearings. Then he joined the boy and 
placed a grimy finger upon the map. 

“ We ’ll be right here,” he said. “ Over 
here ’s the Red Shoals light, an’ over there back 
iv us ’s th’ Four Fathom light. When ye draw 
a line between ’m, ye ’ll find we ’re right on 
th’ line about halfway from each.” 

Paddy noted the place carefully. Then he 
walked to the window and studied the shore 
line, fixing firmly in his memory the position 
of the first light and repeating the observation 
from the window on the other side of the boat 
.Then he went back to his original post and took 
up his watch so that he could see all that went 
on on the port deck. Blake stood there with 
Walter Desborough beside him and two of the 
crew bringing up in the rear laden with the 
strange boy’s luggage. They waited until the 
launch had come alongside and made fast, and 
Paddy saw Righter rise from the cockpit to 
help his visitors aboard. It was very evident 
to the Irish boy that Walter was not used to 
78 


GROPING IN THE DARK 


boats. He boarded the launch as though he 
were walking on glass, and had it not been for 
Righter’s strong arm, the lad would certainly 
have fallen overboard from sheer nervousness. 

With his passengers aboard, Righter tooted 
the little whistle of the launch, the lines were 
cast off, and, with a waving of hands all around, 
the nose of the launch was turned shoreward, 
and Paddy finally saw it disappear at the spot 
from which it had emerged, seemingly in the 
very midst of the trees. He walked back into 
the engine room and again studied the chart. 
Here he saw why the small boat had appeared 
to be swallowed up by the land. A long thin 
strip of low marshland jutted out half a mile 
or more above and, swinging downstream in 
the form of an ellipse, completely hid from the 
view of those on the river the spacious and 
snug bay which it formed. 

“ That ’s a fine place to hide him away and 
no mistake,” said the boy to himself. “ Fred 
and I would never have found them there if I 
hadn’t taken my bearings so carefully. But 
now I ’ll know where to look for them and I 
think I ’ll have some valuable information for 
my reporter friend when I get back home.” 

The rest of the run up to the city was with- 
out incident. The tug was warped into her 
79 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

dock and, as Paddy was about to land, the cap- 
tain called to him. 

“ O’Day, ” he said', “ I ’m sorry to have to 
do it, but Mr. Blake has given me orders to 
pay you off and let you go. I understand that 
you brought a stranger aboard without ask- 
ing permission. It ’s a bad thing for a boy of 
your age to start in life by disobeying orders. 
iY ou ’d better mend your ways or you ’ll never 
amount to anything.” 

Paddy did not think it worth while to cor- 
rect the captain’s impression of his conduct. 
He took the little roll of money that the man 
handed to him and, without another word, 
turned on his heel and left the dock. He had 
more important matters to attend to. He must 
hurry to the boarding-house and tell Fred what 
he had learned so that they could make their 
plans at once to go down the river after Walter 
Desborough. 

Paddy jumped a car and in a few minutes 
had arrived at the house that he and Fred called 
home. He opened the door and bounded up 
the steps two at a time. Fred was always in 
their room at this time, so without ceremony 
Paddy burst open the door and then stood still, 
dumfounded, in the entrance. 

Fred was not there. Everything was just as 
80 


GROPING IN THE DARK 


they had left it. No one had been in the room, 
and the feel of the wet coat rolled under his 
arm told Paddy that his friend’s way out of 
the water had not been so easy as he had 
hoped. 


81 


CHAPTER IX 


A TRICK AND A START 

Paddy wandered aimlessly about their little 
room, unable to make up his mind what to do. 
Fred had not been home; that was certain. 
The boy sat down at their telegraph instru- 
ment and began to tick “VG — VG — VG” 
which was Fred's call at the office and the 
signal he used when practising. What would 
he not give had Fred only been there to answer 
with his “I — I — VG "? 

Finally Paddy jumped from his seat in 
desperation. 

“ This is no time to be wasting the minutes/' 
he admonished himself. “ You 'd better be up 
and doing or you 've sent your last message 
to VG." 

He ran down the stairs and knocked at the 
landlady's door. 

“Was Fred Spencer at home last night or 
to-day ? " he asked. 

“ No," she answered. “ Is anything wrong? " 
82 


A TRICK AND A START 


“ Oh, no,” said the boy, “ only I don’t know 
where he is and I ’m going out to look for him. 
Please tell him, if he comes in, to phone his 
office at once. I ’ll call them up later and see 
if they ’ve heard from him.” 

He ran out of the door and into the street, 
scarcely knowing which way to turn. It was 
hardly likely that Fred would have gone to 
the Call office without first going home to get 
a coat. He decided, however, to try the news- 
paper before entirely giving up hope. 

A few minutes’ ride on the cars brought him 
to his destination, but Mr. Ball was not an easy 
man to see. 

“ You ’ll have to tell me what you want to 
see Mr. Ball for,” said the office boy of whom 
he inquired. “ Mr. Ball ’s a mighty busy man. 
Are you after a job? ” 

“ No,” said Paddy. “Just tell Mr. Ball I 
want to see him about Fred Spencer and I 
think he ’ll let me in.” 

The boy disappeared but soon returned. 

“ Nothin’ doin’,” he announced. “ Spencer ’s 
away on his vacation, and the boss ain’t got 
time t’ talk t’ any of his friends.” 

Paddy stood a moment undecided. He knew 
that if he sent in word that he had tidings of 
the famous Walter Desborough, he would be 
83 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

admitted instantly, but he decided not to 
do this. 

“ If I told them what I know/’ he argued to 
himself, “ they would send their star men down 
the river. Then Fred would n’t get the credit 
and he probably wouldn’t get his reporter’s 
job either. No, sir, Fred and I will clean this 
thing up between us without help and then 
we ’ll get whatever there is to be got out of it.” 

He turned again to the boy. 

“ Was n’t Mr. Spencer in last night?” he 
asked. 

“ Mister Spencer,” sneered the boy. “ When 
wuz he promoted? ’Round here he ’s just plain 
Spencer. No. He ain’t been in since he went 
on his vacation.” 

Paddy was again tempted to confide in Mr. 
Ball, but again he decided to protect Fred’s 
chances of reaping all the glory, and without 
another word he left the office. 

The habit of many days turned his footsteps 
toward the river front. He had no definite 
plans in view, but he thought a talk with his 
Uncle Mike might lead to some good, so he 
made his way to the piers of the Maritime 
Steamship Company. But here he was doomed 
to another disappointment, for the Vixen had 
left her moorings, and a man whom he accosted 
84 


A TRICK AND A START 


told him that she had started up river an hour 
before to have some repairs made to her 
machinery. 

Paddy wandered disconsolately along the 
street, sticking to the docks that lined the river 
and walking with no definite aim in view. He 
was thinking deeply as he walked. He knew 
that he must act at once and, to be of assistance 
to his friend, he must somehow get to that little 
harbor into which he had seen the launch dis- 
appear. What he could do when he got there 
he did not know. How he was to get there 
he did not know. There were no boats to be 
hired in that section of the city ; farther up the 
river he knew there were plenty, but he also 
knew that, to get one, he would have to leave 
a deposit larger than the sum of money he 
had in his pocket. Yet a boat he must have 
and he must have it soon. 

Idly he sat down beside two men on a bench 
at the foot of one of the wharves. His 
thoughts crowded over each other as he be- 
came surer of the necessity for haste, but his 
brain, usually so full of expedients, seemed 
now absolutely unable to cope with this situ- 
ation. He decided to try once more to locate 
Fred and, if still unsuccessful, he promised 
himself that he would find some way to get 
the coveted boat. 


85 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Paddy walked across the street to a store 
and, going into the public telephone booth, 
called up first his landlady and then the Morn - 
ing Call office. Fred had not yet been seen in 
either place. Paddy hung up the receiver, and, 
as he walked again to the bench to resume his 
seat beside the two men, his jaw was set hard 
and the determined glint in his eyes showed 
that he was not going to lose many more 
minutes. He glanced idly along the side of 
the nearest pier and saw a rowboat, empty and 
without oars, moored to a bulkhead. 

“ If these men 'll get out of the way and 
give me a chance, I 'll get that boat," he prom- 
ised himself. “ It 'll be a hard job without 
oars, but I 'll take a chance." 

He watched the two men furtively, but 
neither gave the slightest sign of an intention 
to move. Paddy again glanced over the river 
and beheld a man whom, at that moment, he 
envied above all other men. He was the most 
ordinary of longshoremen rowing toward them 
in the most ordinary of boats, but Paddy envied 
him nevertheless, or, rather, he envied him the 
possession of even so dilapidated looking a 
craft. 

“ Here comes Uncle Dan Smith," said the 
man who sat on the bench beside Paddy. 

86 


A TRICK AND A START 


“ Humph,” muttered the boy to himself, “ if 
he lands here, he ’ll have to swim home, for 
I ’ll get his boat or wind up in jail.” 

“ He ’s coming back for his pipe, I guess,” 
said the other man. “ He left it behind him 
when he went away, and it ’s such a great pet 
of his that he ’d row from here to the bay to 
get it back. I ’ve got it locked up in my desk 
on the end of the pier. Let ’s go get it for him.” 

The two men rose, and Paddy’s heart jumped, 
for he had suddenly formed a desperate reso- 
lution. He walked over to the point for which 
the old man was heading and caught the bow 
of the rowboat as it was about to bump the 
dock. 

“ Are you Uncle Dan Smith? ” asked Paddy. 

The old man turned and eyed the boy 
suspiciously. 

“ Waal,” he drawled, “ what ef I be? ” 

“ Why, you left your pipe here, did n’t 
you ? ” asked Paddy innocently. 

The old man became interested at once. 

“ That ’s what I did, sonny,” he exclaimed. 
“ Ef you ’ve got her, hand her over an’ I ’ll 
give ye a quarter. I would n’t lose that meer- 
schaum fer anything.” 

“ Gee,” exclaimed Paddy as though in dis- 
appointment, “ I wish I had her. That fellow 
87 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

out in the office on the end of the pier told 
me he had it in his desk and for you to come 
out and get it.” 

“ That ’s fine,” exclaimed the old man. 
“ You hold my boat fer me, will ye, sonny? ” 

The waterman got out stiffly and started for 
the pier, when Paddy called him back. 

“ That fellow said you ’d give me a nickel 
if I told you,” he said. 

“ Why, sure,” said the man, fishing in his 
pocket and handing over the coin. “ Jest you 
mind my boat until I cum back an’ I ’ll give 
ye another.” 

He ambled away and was soon around the 
corner and inside the shed on the pier. 

Paddy acted in an instant. Springing into 
the boat, he shoved her far out, and a few 
strokes of the oars took him to midstream. 
He headed her nose down river and, as he 
settled to his long, hard pull he saw the old 
man emerge from the pier, shouting and ges- 
ticulating wildly after the boy who had played 
him such a trick. But Paddy’s teeth were set 
grimly. 

“ I hate to do it, old sport,” he muttered, 
“ but I need this boat and I ’m going to put it 
to the best use it ’s ever seen since the day it 
was built.” 


88 


A TRICK AND A START 


Five minutes’ steady rowing took him out 
of sight of the people on the pier. The tide 
was with him, and he settled to a steady, even 
stroke that he could continue for the hours that 
he knew must elapse before he reached the spot 
for which he was bound. 

“ Now, Mr. Blake,” he muttered, “ we ’ll 
soon see what you have to say about that 
coat I fished out of the river this morning.” 


89 


CHAPTER X 


THE SCENE ON THE HOUSEBOAT 

Paddy bent steadily to the oars, curbing his 
impatience to go fast, for it was a long hard 
pull to his destination, and he knew that he 
would need every ounce of strength he pos- 
sessed before he was through. His intention 
was to row only until he was below the paths 
taken by most of the river craft and then to 
let the down tide take him along as far as it 
would before it turned. 

But this fine programme was soon spoiled. 
He had not been rowing many minutes when, 
on glancing along the course over which he had 
come, he saw another boat, driven by two pairs 
of strong oars, shoot out from among the docks, 
and as one of the rowers turned, Paddy recog- 
nized him as Uncle Dan Smith. Here was a 
nice predicament, indeed. It would be a very 
unequal race at best, for the two men in the 
pursuing boat were watermen who could out- 
row him without much trouble and, even if 
Paddy should win the race, his exertions would 
90 


THE SCENE ON THE HOUSEBOAT 

so tire him that he would have little strength 
left for the sterner task that awaited him 
further down the river. 

Yet race he must. To be caught would mean 
to be taken back to the city and punishment 
of some kind unless he told his whole story to 
show how necessary the boat had been to him. 
This would be even worse than punishment, for 
it would reveal Fred’s whole scheme and give 
other newspaper men the chance to get the story 
first. There was nothing for it, therefore, but 
to bend to the oars with might and main and, 
if everything else failed, beach the boat, escape 
on shore, and trust to luck to get another boat 
elsewhere. 

Paddy worked as he had never worked be- 
fore. He did not even spare the time and 
effort to look at his pursuers, but, with head 
bent and shoulders humped, he put the strength 
of every muscle into each sweep of the oars. 
He felt the old boat leap under him. Spray 
splashed upon the back of his head and neck 
as the bow cut into the waves made by the 
wash of an up-bound steamer, the rickety shell 
that carried him bobbed and tossed and threat- 
ened to swamp every instant, but the boy kept 
to his purpose. When at last he looked up, 
the pursuing boat was nowhere to be seen. 

9i 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ Hello,” He exclaimed, “have they given 
up so easily ? ” 

But his triumph was short-lived. The 
steamer whose wash had impeded him, swept 
to one side, and the other boat, which had only 
been hidden behind her, rounded her bow and 
cut with strong strokes through the wash 
astern. Paddy bent again to his task. He had 
noticed with some little satisfaction that Uncle 
Dan and his mate had not gained on him, but, 
on the other hand, neither had they lost and 
there could be no doubt that the boy would 
tire of the terrific pace long before the com- 
bined efforts of the two sturdy watermen failed. 
But Paddy had no choice. 

Minute after minute passed, the boy all the 
time bent over his task, not looking to see 
where the others were and not even trying to 
steer a course. Had a vessel been in his path, 
he would have rowed right into her. He had 
lost all thought of his surroundings ; one thing 
only was in his mind and that was to get far- 
ther away from the pursuers who clung so 
tenaciously to their position astern. His breath 
was now labored, perspiration stood out upon 
his forehead, but it was cold with fear as he 
realized that his strength was beginning to ebb. 
He knew that this meant the beginning of the 
92 


THE SCENE ON THE HOUSEBOAT 


end. Up to this moment excitement and the 
chance of winning had spurred him on, but 
now that he knew that his endurance was not 
equal to the tax imposed upon it, despair gained 
the upper hand and made him weaken all the 
faster. 

Again he glanced up and a little hope came 
to him. A tug, coming down the river, was 
bearing straight down upon Uncle Dan and 
would pass so close that she was bound to 
impede the progress of the two men. It was 
a very faint thread indeed upon which to hang 
his hopes, but, slight as it was, it spurred him 
to renewed energy and he braced himself for 
another spurt. But, even as he rowed, he knew 
that the end could not be far off. His mouth 
was dry and his tongue swollen. It was a 
painful effort for him to breathe, and each 
pull on the oars made a sharp twinge shoot 
through his shoulders, and the palms of his 
hands were blistered and raw against the hard 
wood they held so tightly. 

Paddy was ready to give up for once in his 
life. The tremendous physical strain had been 
too much for him, and he seemed to have no 
sensation either of pain or despair as he heard 
a voice hail him over the water. He had tried 
his best and lost. Now that it was all over, 
93 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


he could feel only regret for Fred Spencer. 
No thought of his own fate disturbed him, and 
he shipped his oars and sank wearily back in 
his seat to await the coming of the men who 
were to ruin all his plans. Again the voice 
called to him over the water. 

“ Ahoy, there, Paddy O’Day.” 

Paddy looked up, startled. How had these 
men learned his name? But it was not the 
threatening face of Uncle Dan Smith into 
which he looked. It was the smiling eyes of 
a boy like himself, a hand aboard the tug of 
one of the shipping firms, a lad known along 
the waterfront as “ Snipes ” Farrell. 

Snipes stood at the engine-room door of the 
tug that Paddy had seen bearing down upon 
the other rowboat. He was an ugly little chap, 
but at that instant Paddy thought he had never 
seen a face that looked so beautiful. 

“ What’s up?” called Snipes. “ Are them 
fellers after yer? ” 

“ Yes,” shouted Paddy. 

“ We ’ll fool ’em,” retorted Snipes. “ Catch.” 

He picked up a long coil of rope from 
the deck, whirled it lasso fashion about his 
head and then sent it spinning across the 
rowboat. 

“ Talk about Buffalo Bill,” he cried in glee, 
94 


THE SCENE ON THE HOUSEBOAT 


as he saw that the line had fallen almost into 
Paddy’s outstretched hands. 

The Irish boy at once tossed a half-hitch over 
a cleat in the bow of the rowboat and braced 
himself for the shock that he knew was to 
come. The rope snapped taut, the cranky little 
craft leaped and shivered as though it would 
fall to pieces, and, after one or two lunges, set- 
tled snugly into the water, her bow curling 
back little wavelets as she sped after the tug. 
It was the work of only a few minutes to 
haul her in hand over hand until Paddy was 
able to jump to the deck beside the triumphant 
Snipes, but he sank at once to the hard boards, 
his knees refusing to support him. He was 
completely worn out. 

“ Gee,” ejaculated Snipes, “ that wuz like 
th’ hero in a play at th’ National Tee-ater. 
Rescued in th’ nick uv time, eh? Say, if 
Carnegie hears uv dis, he ’ll have me roun’- 
shouldered wearin’ all his medals. But if I 
wuz you, I ’d get a better lookin’ boat dan dat 
one t’ be rescued out uv. Where ’d yu git de 
tub, anyways ? ” 

“ Stole it,” said Paddy briefly. 

Snipes gave a long whistle of comprehension. 

“ So dat ’s why dem fellers wuz chasin’ ye,” 
he exclaimed. “ Den I ain’t de hero, arter all. 

95 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

I 'm in cahoots wid de willain. So long, 
Carnegie.” 

Paddy explained briefly what had taken place 
so far as he thought it necessary. Without 
going into details, he impressed upon Snipes 
how important it had been for him to get a 
boat and how thankful he was that his friend 
had come along just in time. 

“ And now,” he said, “ how far down are 
you going and will the captain let me stay 
aboard awhile ? ” 

“ Sure, he will,” assured Snipes. “ He 's de 
best natured feller on dis river. Look at 'im 
now, smilin' like t’ crack his face.” 

Paddy glanced up at the pilot house and saw 
a burly good-natured face looking down upon 
him with twinkling eyes and with the weather- 
beaten skin furrowed into a thousand wrinkles 
that betokened the best of humor and good will. 

Paddy touched his cap respectfully, and the 
captain waved in return. 

“ All right, sonny,” he called. “ I won't ask 
no questions so long as you behave yourself 
aboard here.” 

Paddy looked the deep gratitude he felt and 
turned again to Snipes. 

“ I want to cast off about the Red Shoals,” 
he said. “ I 've got to put in there to meet this 
96 


THE SCENE ON THE HOUSEBOAT 


friend I was telling you about. It ’s a little 
late, but I guess he ’ll be there when I get there, 
as my great-uncle said when they told him the 
hangman was waiting.” 

It was, as Paddy said, getting late. The 
afternoon sun had sunk in a deep red glow 
behind the western trees, and the dusk of a 
misty evening was gathering about the water. 
Some of the ships had already put out their 
lights, and it was almost impossible to make out 
the details of objects ashore. 

"We ain’t fer above Red Shoals now,” said 
Snipes. 

“ All right,” said Paddy. “ I ’ll get back into 
my Noah’s Ark and you can haul in your line 
when I give you the word. By the way, that 
was a great throw of yours. Where did you 
learn it ? ” 

“ Been practisin’ it at home,” answered 
Snipes. “ Mother ’s sick abed an’ I ’ve been 
watchin’ me kid brother. I set on th’ front 
steps an’ let ’im play an’ wen he gits too near 
th’ car tracks, I lasso him and haul him back. 
It amuses him an’ I don’t have t’ git up from 
me seat.” 

Paddy laughed and, waiting an opportunity, 
sprang into the rowboat, almost upsetting her 
as he landed. Pie sat down upon the thwarts 
9 7 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


and kept his eyes glued upon the western shore 
until he saw the flashing light from Red Shoals. 

“ This fll do fine/’ he shouted to Snipes. “ I 
certainly am obliged to you." 

“ I guess the rope helped you more 'n it did 
thet great-uncle uv yourn," answered Snipes. 

“ Well, I don't know," laughed Paddy. “ If 
it hadn't been for that rope, I wouldn't be 
handing him down to fame the way I 'm doin'. 
So long, Snipes. Thanks again." 

He cast off the line that held him to the 
tug and, with a wave of his hand, settled to 
his oars. It was a row of a mile or more 
before he reached the spot between the Red 
Shoals and the Four Fathom light, but he 
finally found himself in exactly the same 
position that the Vixen had been in when his 
Uncle Mike had pointed out their bearings 
upon the chart of the engine room. With a 
strong sweep of the port oar, he turned the 
nose of his boat straight for the west and 
settled to the long pull ahead of him. 

It was pitch dark by the time Paddy reached 
the shore. He drove the nose of the boat hard 
into the yielding sand and, springing out, 
dragged her bow well up so that there would 
be no danger of her drifting away. Then he 
set out to look over the lay of the land and 
98 


THE SCENE ON THE HOUSEBOAT 


find the inlet to the harbor into which he had 
seen the launch disappear. It was hard walk- 
ing in the darkness. More than once he stum- 
bled and fell to his knees in the long, dank 
grass, but he kept persistently at it until he 
had gone several hundred yards above where 
he had landed. Still there was no sign of the 
inlet. 

“ Well,” he reasoned, “ if I ’m on the nar- 
row neck of land, there ’ll be water not more 
than a hundred yards straight inland. If there 
is n’t any water there, I ’ll know I ’m on the 
lower side of the inlet. That’s as simple as 
ABC. I must have been dreaming not to 
have thought of it before. Inland I go.” 

Suiting the action to the word, he turned at 
right angles to the course he had been pursuing 
and struck through the long grass straight 
toward the west. For fully five minutes he 
struggled, but there was no sign of the little 
bay. 

“ All right,” he said to himself. “ This 
proves where I am. It ought to be easy now. 
Back to the boat and row up close to the shore 
until I come to the entrance to the bay, then 
into the bay and — well, I ’ll have to wait and 
trust to luck for the rest.” 

He was not long in regaining the rowboat 
99 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


and pushing her out from the shore. Then, 
taking the oars, he settled to an easy paddling 
within ten feet of the line of white made by 
the water as it lapped the land. Soon he 
noticed that all his pulling was done with the 
left oar and, once or twice, he had to throw 
her around sharply to follow the receding shore 
line. 

“ That means,” he argued with himself, 
“ that I am turning a point, and unless I am 
mistaken, that point will mean the south side 
of the entrance I am looking for. Yep. Sure 
as you 're born, I ’m headed straight west. 
Now the word is to go easy and look out for 
trouble. ,, 

He paddled westward for another five min- 
utes or more before looking about him again. 

“ Ah,” he exclaimed as he glanced to the 
north. “ That light means man, and I think 
I know the man it means.” 

From far up the harbor came the gleam of 
a solitary light. It was too distant to be made 
out clearly, but the boy turned the stern of 
his boat toward it and, shifting his seat, began 
to row backward. 

“ I 'll just take it this way,” he thought. 
“ Then I can see what ’s ahead of me without 
all the time turning my head over my shoulder.” 


THE SCENE ON THE HOUSEBOAT 


He rowed carefully and without a sound. 
Little by little he pushed his frail boat through 
the quiet water and soon was able to see the 
light distinctly. It was not, as he had at first 
thought, a lantern. It was the bright glow of 
a brilliantly lighted room, and as the rays came 
through the window, they made more distinct 
the black mass that loomed up before the boy. 
He rested on his oars and studied the object 
curiously. It looked like a long, low house, 
built upon the water in the very middle of the 
harbor. At last a grunt of satisfaction came 
from Paddy. 

“ I have it now,” he said to himself. 
“ That ’s Blake’s famous houseboat, the 
Seven Wonders, that I ’ve heard them talk 
about. I ’m inclined to think that a peep 
through that little window would help me a 
lot.” 

Very slowly and carefully he nosed alongside 
and, shipping his oars silently, he reached over 
until his hands grasped the gunwale of the big 
craft. Hand over hand he pulled himself 
along. He heard the rumble of voices coming 
from inside somewhere and, when he reached 
the spot directly under the window, he stood 
up in his boat and peered through. An ex- 
clamation of astonishment escaped his lips. 

IOI 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

He almost swamped his frail shell as he fell, 
rather than sat, back upon the seat, and, nearly 
forgetting the necessity for caution, he took 
up the oars and rowed with all his strength 
away from the houseboat toward the western 
shore. 

The scene inside the room had been enough 
to disconcert him. He had seen Fred Spencer 
in an angry argument with Righter and Charles 
Blake, the two men had advanced threateningly 
upon the boy, and Righter, with one blow of his 
massive fist, had knocked him into a helpless 
heap that lay cuddled up and motionless upon 
the bed. 


102 





He heard the rumble of voices coming from inside some- 
where, and when he reached the spot directly under the 
window, he stood up in his boat and peered through 

Page 102 































































CHAPTER XI 


THE HOUSEBOAT “ SEVEN WONDERS ” 

As the waters closed over Fred Spencer’s 
head and consciousness began to leave him 
after his long swim from the tug, his last 
thoughts were regrets that he was to go down 
when assistance was so near and anger that 
he could not learn whose hand had struck him 
the blow from behind as he stood in the stern 
of the Vixen. He struggled wildly to regain 
control of himself, but every faculty was 
numbed and his head began to swim in a black 
void, through which myriad little lights seemed 
to be darting. Then he knew no more. 

How long it was before he regained con- 
sciousness he had no way of telling. Nor did 
he come back to a complete realization of his 
surroundings at first. He only dimly knew that 
he muttered something to a man who was 
bending over him, a hot and burning liquid 
was poured down his throat, and the man 
said: 


103 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ There, you ’ll be all shipshape in a jiffy. 
Just you roll over and take a little snooze and 
you ’ll forget all about it.” 

He knew that the man went away, but, like a 
tired child, he was too worn and weary to think 
further and, turning upon his side, he was soon 
in a deep slumber. 

An hour later, though it seemed much longer, 
the boy awoke, rested and refreshed in all 
his faculties but very tired physically and 
so stiff in his muscles that, when he tried to 
rise, he cried aloud with the pain. The door 
was ajar, and a dim light shone in from the 
next room. At Fred’s cry of pain a chair 
in this adjoining room was shoved back and 
a man’s head immediately appeared in the 
doorway. 

“ Did you call, sonny? ” he asked. 

“ I did n’t call,” answered Fred, “ but I guess 
I made a noise. I tried to get up, but my 
muscles are so stiff that it hurt me. How long 
have I been here ? Where am I ? ” 

“ Easy, easy, there,” said the man. “ One 
question at a time and not too fast. You ’d 
better get yourself together before you begin 
worrying about things. Wherever you are, 
you ’re a good deal better off than you were a 
bit ago when I heard you yell from the middle 
104 


HOUSEBOAT “ SEVEN WONDERS " 


of nowhere and without anything but deep 
water all around you to rest on." 

“ Oh, it was you that saved me, was it ? " 
said Fred gratefully. “ I can't begin to tell 
you how much obliged I am. You came just 
in the nick of time. I could n't have held out 
a minute longer." 

“ I should say not," answered the man. 
“ What I can't get through my head is why 
in Sam Hill you were out there at all. Did 
you fall off a boat or get capsized in the 
squall ? " 

Fred hesitated. How much should he tell? 
Was it safe to trust an utter stranger with his 
secret ? He decided that caution was the better 
plan. 

“ I was in my catboat," said Fred, glad that 
the semi-darkness would not reveal the flush 
that accompanied the untruth. 

“ Nice weather for a catboat," grunted the 
man. “ What did she do — capsize ? " 

“ Yes," answered the boy. “ I was going 
along all right from the time I left the city 
this afternoon until it began to blow so hard. 
I was trying to reef her when a squall struck 
and over she went." 

“ Why didn't you hang onto her?" asked 
the man with a note of suspicion in his voice. 

105 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Fred had not thought of that. His nimble mind 
soon found an explanation. 

“ She struck so suddenly that I was not pre- 
pared/’ he explained. “ When she hit me, the 
boom swung over and caught me back of the 
head. It pretty nearly finished me, I can tell 
you. Knocked me clear off my feet, and by the 
time I got my senses, the overturned catboat 
was drifting away down stream. I might have 
caught her, but my shoes and coat were heavy, 
and by the time I got them off, she was out of 
sight and it was all I could do to take care of 
myself and get to shore without thinking of 
hunting for her. 

“ And now,” he asked, “ will you kindly tell 
me where I am and who you are so that I shall 
know to whom I owe my life? When I get 
back to the city, I hope to prove my gratitude 
to you in some more substantial form than 
mere words.” 

The man’s tone changed instantly at this. 

“ You mind your own business,” he snapped 
angrily. “ What concern of yours is it where 
you are or who lam? And when you get back 
to the city, you jest forget all about it, and 
don’t you try any monkey shines trying to find 
me, for if I find you snooping about here I ’ll 
make it so hot for you that you won’t soon for- 
106 


HOUSEBOAT “ SEVEN WONDERS ” 


get. You just keep a civil tongue in your head 
until I get you out of here and then you light 
out and keep away.” 

The man had risen in his anger, and, when 
he had finished his remarkable and totally un- 
expected harangue, he turned abruptly on his 
heel and strode out of the door. 

To say that Fred was astonished would be 
putting it mildly. He was dumfounded. He 
had meant only an expression of the gratitude 
that he felt toward his rescuer and had had no 
thought of prying into the other’s secrets. 

“ Well,” thought the boy, “ if he ’s so touchy 
as that merely because he thought I was pry- 
ing into his affairs, how would he act if he 
really caught me prying into them? Whew! 
He must have something awful to conceal. 
Wonder what it can be.” 

The boy lay quiet on the bed for some time 
thinking over the strange events of the past 
twenty-four hours. Things had certainly hap- 
pened rapidly to bring him to this strange pass, 
and the attitude of his rescuer made him fear 
that his troubles were by no means over. 

He lay on his side and began to take stock 
of his surroundings. A steady rocking motion 
told him that he was on a boat of some kind, 
but its furnishings were the strangest that he 
107 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

had ever seen on a water craft. The room in 
which he lay was small, but it was fitted out 
with all the comfort and, indeed, luxury that 
would be found in the house of a well-to-do 
man ashore. He lay upon a brass bedstead, the 
linen of which was finer and whiter than that 
which covered his bed in the boarding-house. 
Pictures in substantial frames hung upon the 
walls, there was a neat rug upon the floor, and 
the chairs and a little dressing stand at one 
side were costly and luxurious. 

“ It must be a yacht of some kind,” thought 
the boy, “ and if it is it certainly is a beauty. 
My friend, the mysterious hero who saved my 
life, is probably the caretaker, but why he is 
so anxious to hide his identity I can’t imagine. 
Hello. There ’s some one with him.” 

The murmur of low voices came to his ear 
through the half-open door. He lay perfectly 
quiet and could make out a word here and there, 
but not enough to connect into a definite mean- 
ing. Gradually the voices rose, and Fred could, 
hear almost everything that was said. 

“ We ’d better put him off first thing in the 
morning,” said the voice of Fred’s rescuer. 
“ He ’s a prying little duffer and he might learn 
too much if we let him stay aboard. Wanted 
to know all about me and where we were and 
108 


HOUSEBOAT “ SEVEN WONDERS ” 


all that as soon as he opened his eyes. I shut 
him up pretty quick, I tell you.” 

“ You ought to 've let the brat sink,” growled 
a surly voice that seemed strangely familiar to 
Fred, but that he could not definitely recognize. 
“ A boy or two more or less don't matter in 
this world, and they 're blamed unhandy when 
they get in the road. I'd a heap sooner deal 
with a man any day. A man knows when he 's 
licked, but a boy with spunk never does. And 
I guess from what you say that this one 's got 
plenty of spunk.” 

“ He must have,” answered the other, “ to 
make a swim like that with the water kicking 
up the fuss it 's been doing all afternoon and 
evening.” 

“How'd he say he got here?” asked the 
familiar voice. 

“ Taking a sail in his catboat. Said every- 
thing was all right when he left the city this 
afternoon — ” 

“ This afternoon ! ” exclaimed the other. 
“ That settles it. He 's stringing you for some 
reason or other and I 'm going to find out 
why.” 

“ What makes you think so?” asked his 
companion. 

“ Why, you know as well as I do that there 
109 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

ain’t a catboat in the world small enough for 
one boy to handle and fast enough to get from 
the city away down here by this time with the 
tide ag’in’ it.” 

“ Well, I’ll be blowed,” exclaimed Fred’s 
rescuer in an abashed tone. “Why didn’t I 
think of that ? ” 

“ Why? ” asked the other fiercely. “ Why? 
Because you have n’t got brains enough to act 
as ballast for an airship. Because you ’re noth- 
ing but an — ” 

“ Oh, cut it out. Maybe I ain’t the genius 
that you think yourself to be, but I ain’t going 
to sit here and let you call me all the names 
you ’re a mind to lay your tongue to. You and 
I are in this thing on even terms, and I ain’t 
going to take anything from you that I don’t 
have to. You just keep civil and work quiet 
with me and everything will be all right, but if 
you get me mad with your loose tongue, I ’m 
liable to do something we ’ll both be isorry 
for.” 

“ Aw, stow that,” said the familiar voice in 
a mollifying tone. “ What ’s the use of us 
fighting? We ’ve got big things on hand and 
we might as well pull together. But if this boy 
is telling lies he ’s not on the level, and if 
he ’s not on the; level we don’t want him 

IIQ 


HOUSEBOAT “ SEVEN WONDERS ” 


around here — not when the ‘ Boss 9 gets back 
anyhow.” 

The Boss! Instantly Fred’s mind flew back 
to the scene on the tug, and he realized at once 
where he had heard that familiar voice before. 
It was Righter. 

Like a flash the boy’s danger was brought 
before him. He remembered Righter’s words 
to Blake as the launch was about to put off 
from the tug. “ Well, I ’ll be off and get things 
in shape,” the Boss’ right-hand man had said. 
“ We ’ll expect you sometime to-morrow or 
next day.” 

Fred’s predicament was now all too clear. 
He had drifted straight into the arms of his 
enemy. This was the place for which Righter 
had put out when he left the tug. This, prob- 
ably, was the place where he was to keep Wal- 
ter Desborough quiet and happy until Blake 
should have time to arrange his villainous 
schemes in the city. This was the place — Fred 
shuddered as he realized it — where Righter 
was waiting for his Boss. This was the place 
where he, Fred Spencer, a defenseless boy of 
seventeen, would have to come face to face 
once more with the powerful and crafty Charles 
Blake and where he would be absolutely in the 
power of his enemy. He stifled a cry of terror 
hi 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

that rose to his lips as he heard Righter 
say: 

“ Come on in with me. I ’m going to put 
that kid through the third degree, and if I 
don’t wring the truth from him, my name ’s 
not Tom Righter.” 


1 12 


CHAPTER XII 


FRIENDS WITH THE ENEMY 

Fred braced himself mentally for the struggle 
that was to come. He heard the men shove 
their chairs back, and heavy footsteps ap- 
proached the door. The boy turned on his 
side with his back to the entrance and pre- 
tended to be asleep as the men came in. He 
allowed Righter to shake him violently for 
some time before he began acting as though he 
had just been wakened from a deep slumber. 
He must pretend entire ignorance of the men 
and their character and he must not let them 
suspect that he had overheard their conversa- 
tion in the next room. He yawned and sat up. 

“ Ah,” he said, “ I feel better. I guess I ’ll 
be ready to start for shore as soon as you ’ll 
be good enough to take me.” 

Righter sat down at the side of the bed. 

“ All right now, are you ? ” he asked in pre- 
tended kindness. “ My mate here tells me 
you ’ve had a narrow escape. Pretty uncom- 

113 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


fortable position for a shaver of your size to 
be in. How ’d it happen? Just taking a little 
swim for the benefit of your health ? ” 

“ No,” answered Fred. He forced a laugh 
as though he were perfectly at ease and appre- 
ciated the man’s rough humor. “ I ’m fond of 
swimming, but I don’t go out in quite such 
rough weather nor so far from home. No, as 
I told your friend here, I was out for a sail in 
my catboat and she capsized when the squall 
struck her.” 

“ So you ’ve got a catboat, have you? ” asked 
Righter. Fred knew that he would now be 
questioned sharply and his mind was alert for 
every detail. 

“ Yes, sir,” he said. “ She ’s not much of a 
boat, but she ’s the fastest thing of her size on 
the river, and when I have her under full sail in 
a good breeze and her gasoline engine going at 
the same time, I can simply walk away from 
most other boats.” 

The gasoline engine was a sudden inspira- 
tion, used in the hope of explaining away 
Righter’s doubts of the possibility of so small 
a boat making such rapid time. 

“And about how big might this little cat- 
boat of yours be? ” asked the man. It was evi- 
dent that he was preparing a trap for Fred. 

114 


FRIENDS WITH THE ENEMY 

“ She ’s twenty-four feet over all,” answered 
the boy. 

“ Twenty-four feet!” exclaimed Righter. 
“ Pretty sizable boat for a lad of your size to 
handle, I should say.” 

“ Yes, sir, but I ’m used to her. I spend 
most of my time on the water, so I have 
learned to handle her in all kinds of weather.” 

“ So-o-o,” drawled Righter. 

He rose and walked over to the opposite wall. 
Turning on a switch, he suddenly flooded the 
room in brilliant electric light. Then he came 
back and resumed his seat at the side of the 
bed, bending close to Fred and studying him 
intently. 

“ Just as I thought,” he cried. “ You ’re a 
pretty pale sort of a chap for one who ’s used 
to sailing a boat in all sorts of weathers. Noth- 
ing very brown or weather-beaten about you. 
How do you manage to keep that pink and 
white skin if you ’re out in the open so much ? 
Come along now, and answer me that one.” 

Fred was completely at a loss what to say. 
Righter’s move had been totally unexpected. 

“ Well, sir,” said the boy, “ I was pretty 
brown until a little while ago, but I Ve been 
sick for some time past and I ’m just getting 
about again.” 

ii5 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


Righter took up the boy’s hand as it lay on 
the bed. Before Fred knew what he was 
about, he had bent over it, studied its palm 
closely, and had thrown it down again in a 
burst of anger. 

“ You ’re an infernal little liar! ” he shouted. 
“ You have n’t got a mark on your hand. Not 
even the remains of a callous spot, and they ’d 
be plain as day if you were used to handling 
the ropes and tiller of a boat of that size. No, 
sir, you ’re an infernal little liar, and I propose 
to find out why you ’re here and why you ’re 
lying about it.” 

Fred felt the cold chills thrill all through 
him. He was caught helplessly in the clever 
trap sprung by the lame man and he would 
have to be very adroit indeed to get out of it. 
A sudden idea came to him. He would pre- 
tend that he was the one who had the secret 
to conceal and not these two men. He feigned 
a quickly caught sob in his throat and looked 
as though he were pitifully distressed. 

“ I did lie to you,” he said contritely and 
in a tearful voice, “ but, oh, sir, if you only 
knew what I am trying to get away from, 
you would let me go and not ask any more 
questions. t You won’t send me back, will 
you?” 

116 


FRIENDS WITH THE ENEMY 


The two men exchanged glances of sudden 
comprehension. 

“ Well,” said Righter, “ we ’ll see. But first 
we ’ll have to know what you ’re running away 
from. Have you been doing things you 
ought n’t to ’ve? ” 

Fred hung his head in pretended shame and 
nodded. 

“ Yes, sir,” he said, “ and I wanted to get 
away where they would n’t follow me and 
where I ’d have a chance to begin all over 
again. I ’ll be straight, honestly I will, if 
you ’ll only let me go and not send me back.” 

“ Back where, sonny?” asked Righter. 
There was a kindly tone in his voice now, and 
Fred’s heart gave a little leap of triumph. The 
man now felt that the boy was a fellow wrong- 
doer, and the bond that holds all criminals to- 
gether in a common brotherhood was beginning 
to be welded. 

“ Back where, sonny? ” he repeated. “ Tell 
me. I won’t give you away, honest I won’t.” 

“ The Reformatory,” sobbed Fred. He had 
never known that he could act a part so well. 
Real tears almost came to his eyes as he con- 
templated his imaginary troubles, and he de- 
termined to carry the hoax to the end as long 
as it promised success. 

ii 7 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


“The Reformatory, eh?” Righter laughed 
long and loudly. “ So they got you and sent 
you up, did they? ” 

Again Fred nodded. 

“ Poor little cove,” said Righter, turning to 
the other man. “ Sent him up to the pen and 
blowed if he did n’t make a get-away. Serve 
’em right if they never get him again. What 
did they send you up for, sonny? ” he asked, 
turning his attention to Fred again. 

“ I took the money out of the cash-drawer 
of the office where I worked,” the boy sobbed. 
“ They would n’t have caught me either only 
I lost some of it to anpther boy shooting craps 
and they had it marked.” 

Righter laughed heartily. 

“A gambler, too, eh?” he said. “Well, 
well, sonny, you ’re beginning rather young, 
but I guess we won’t give you away. How ’d 
you come to be in the water ? ” 

“ I hid myself on a boat that started down 
the river this afternoon and the captain found 
me and came at me with a stick. I was so 
scared that I jumped overboard. I thought I 
could swim to shore. I didn’t know it was 
so far.” 

Again the lame man’s hearty, rough laugh 
rang out. Fred had evidently risen consider- 
118 


FRIENDS WITH THE ENEMY 


ably in his estimation and was now entitled to 
the consideration due a younger member of 
the brotherhood of wrong-doers. 

“ All right, sonny/' said Righter. “ I guess 
we 'll help you out of this. Got any money? " 

“ No," answered Fred. “ I had fifty dollars 
in my coat, but I had to take it off because I 
could n't swim with it on and I threw it away 
before I remembered that the money was in 
the pocket." 

“ Fifty dollars!" exclaimed Righter. 
“ Where did you ever get fifty dollars and 
you just making a get-away from the 
Reformatory ? " 

“ I took the captain's pocketbook," said 
Fred. “ I found it hanging on the wall when 
I got on board the ship and I thought I would 
need it more than he would." 

This time both men joined in a perfect roar 
of delighted mirth. Here indeed was a boy 
after their own heart. 

“ I don't know," said Righter thoughtfully, 
“ I don't know but what we might need a boy 
of your ability right here. You 'd be safer 
here than you would wandering about the 
country with the police on the lookout for you. 
How ’d you like to stay with us for a few 
weeks ? ” 

119 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ You would n’t give me away? ” asked Fred 
with pretended suspicion. 

“ Nary a give-away,” assured Righter 
heartily. “Why, we’d be the best of pals. 
You see,” he glanced for approval at his mate 
and the other nodded, “ you see, we ’re ex- 
pecting a young shaver about your own age 
here and we want to keep him amused until 
further orders. Now, I ’m not much of a hand 
at amusing youngsters and neither is my mate 
here, are you, Bill?” 

“ Not me,” said Bill with a harsh laugh. 
“ The only way I can amuse them is with a 
rope’s end. That ’s a good idea, Righter.” 

“ Sure,” agreed Righter. “ It is n’t always 
advisable to take too many in on little jobs of 
this kind, especially strangers, but, you see, 
our young friend here ’s in rather a ticklish 
situation and I guess he wouldn’t be likely 
to make any trouble. We could send him back 
to the Reformatory if he did.” 

Fred sat up, apparently in sudden terror. 

“ Oh, sir,” he cried, “ don’t do that. I ’ll do 
anything you say and I ’ll not make the slightest 
trouble if you ’ll only not send me back.” 

Righter gazed at him searchingly for a mo- 
ment, but Fred was playing for big stakes and 
he did not flinch. 


120 


FRIENDS WITH THE ENEMY 


“ All right,” said Righter, “ you ’ll stay safe 
right here, and when we ’re done with this little 
job I guess the Boss will take care of you and 
see that you don’t go back to the Reformatory.” 
The two men rose and walked out 
“ Now you get a good night’s sleep,” said 
Righter, as he paused in the doorway, “ and 
we ’ll arrange all the details in the 
morning.” 


121 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE TABLES TURNED 

Fred’s thoughts were so busy that it seemed 
that he would never get to sleep. He did not 
know whether to be glad or sorry at the out- 
come of his talk with Righter. One thing, at 
least, it had done to his advantage. It had 
allayed the man’s anger and the punishment 
that would certainly have been meted out to 
the boy had he not come out victorious. As 
it was, he found himself the accepted con- 
federate of these two desperate men and so 
he could remain with little fear of detection 
until the arrival of Blake. Anyway, he was 
safe until morning. That would be time 
enough to think of means of escape. 

Sheer physical weariness finally closed the 
boy’s eyelids, and soon he was sleeping soundly. 
He did not awaken until he felt himself shaken 
by the shoulder and he opened his eyes to find 
it broad daylight and Righter standing beside 
his bed. 


122 


THE TABLES TURNED 


“ That ’s the way to sleep/’ exclaimed the 
man. “ Now get up, sonny, and see how much 
breakfast you can eat. If you ’re in the habit 
of washing in the morning, you ’ll find a bath- 
room right aft. I guess they make you wash 
pretty regular up at the college you ’ve just 
graduated from, don’t they? ” 

“ Ugh,” said Fred with a grimace of dis- 
gust, “ please don’t remind me of that place.” 

“ By the way,” asked Righter, “ what ’s the 
name of the cove that has charge there now? 
I think I ’ve met him.” 

“ His name ’s Woodson,” answered Fred. 
“ He ’s a new man. The old one was a fellow 
named Smith.” 

Fred was glad that he could give these de- 
tails correctly. Only a short time before, while 
at his wire in the Call office, he had taken a 
dispatch giving the details of the change and 
on several occasions since he had sent mes- 
sages from the office to Woodson. 

“ That ’s right,” said Righter, convinced by 
the boy’s knowledge. “ Come along, now. Bill 
and I are hungry.” 

Righter left him alone, and the boy went in 
search of the bath that the man had spoken of. 
As he entered the next room, he paused in 
pleased surprise. It was delightfully fur- 
123 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

nished, the walls lined with books and pic- 
tures and the chairs and center table being 
of the costliest make. Fred could hardly be- 
lieve he was on board a boat, for all the fittings 
suggested the land house of a man of means. 
A glance out of the window, however, showed 
him that they were moored about half a mile 
from the green shore. He went through the 
door and found the bathroom, fitted with 
everything making for modern comfort and 
in keeping with the furnishings of the other 
two rooms. 

“ Whoever owns this yacht certainly knew 
what he was doing when he built her,” thought 
the boy. “ But it can't be a yacht. The sides 
are straight up and down, and the floor is so 
near the water that if it were a yacht they 
would curve inward toward the keel. She must 
be a flat-bottomed craft of some kind. I have 
it. She is one of those houseboats that I have 
seen pictured in the papers lately. Well, she ’s 
a beauty, and I wish she belonged to me instead 
of to such a scoundrel as Blake.” 

His bathing finished, he was about to hunt 
for the two men, when Bill came to the door. 

“ Come along, sonny,” he said. “ We 're 
almost through.” 

Bill led the way through three more rooms, 
124 


THE TABLES TURNED 


and Fred found himself in a dining-room about 
fifteen feet square and a delight to behold. 

“ Fine craft you Ve got here,” he remarked 
to Righter, who was just finishing his break- 
fast. 

“ Oh, the Seven Wonders will show up 
pretty well alongside most of them on the 
river,” answered that worthy. “ I imagine 
she ’s somewhat stauncher than that twenty- 
four-foot catboat with the gasoline engine that 
you were out in last night.” 

They all laughed heartily at this sally of 
wit, and Fred ate the breakfast that Bill set 
before him with the keenest of appetites. 
Righter left before he had finished, with a 
word about going on the upper deck, and, when 
Fred had eaten all he wanted, Bill showed him 
into the next room where a ladder led through 
an opening above. Up this he climbed and 
found himself on the roof, an awning stretch- 
ing the entire length of the boat, and chairs 
and wicker settees being scattered about for 
comfort here and there. Righter lolled at his 
ease in one of these, a big black cigar held con- 
tentedly between his teeth and a look of absolute 
self-satisfaction on his evil face. 

“ Come sit down, sonny,” he called kindly. 
Surly as he habitually was toward others, 

125 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


Righter was companionable to those he recog- 
nized as his kind, and Fred’s stirring narrative 
of the night before had gained him Righter’s 
respect as a very promising member of the 
criminal family. 

“ Now you can be as comfy as you like/’ 
said the man. “ As long as you behave your- 
self and don’t ask too many questions, you can 
stay with us and help us in this little job we ’ve 
got on hand. But, remember ” — his tone car- 
ried a menace — “ a still tongue ’s better than 
a clever one in a fellow of your age and the 
less you say the more you ’re apt to be 
appreciated.” 

“All right, sir,” said Fred. “ I don’t know 
anything and I don’t want to know anything. 
If you ’ll keep me safe from those people 
there” — he jerked his thumb over his shoul- 
der in the direction of the city — “I ’ll do just 
as you say and ask no questions.” 

“ That ’s a good bargain,” cried Righter, 
slapping his leg. “ You stick to your end and 
we ’ll stick to ours.” 

He puffed his cigar in silence a few mo- 
ments, thinking deeply all the while. Finally 
he spoke slowly, as though weighing his words 
well. 

“ My mate and I have a little job on hand,” 
126 


THE TABLES TURNED 


he said, “ and it ’s one that has features in it 
that we ain’t used to. That ’s where you come 
in. Not that we could n’t have handled it 
right enough alone, but your being here opens 
up possibilities of our doing it neater and more 
artistic and that ’s what we ’re after.” 

“ All right, sir,” said Fred. “ I ’ll follow 
instructions.” 

“ You see,” said Righter, even more slowly 
and cautiously, “ we ’re expecting a young fel- 
low about your own age here to visit us, and 
our orders are to make his stay as pleasant and 
agreeable as possible so that he won’t hanker 
to get away. Can you handle a boat, or was 
that simply part of the yarn you were spinning 
us last night ? ” 

“ I have handled small boats, though not 
since last summer,” replied the boy. “ I have 
been considered a good sailor in quiet water 
and I understand enough about it to make it 
perfectly safe so long as I don’t get into rough 
weather.” 

“ It ’s never rough in here,” Righter waved 
his hand to indicate the quiet cove in which 
the houseboat was moored. An arm of the 
shore jutted out a half mile or more above 
them and curved in a long narrow sweep that 
protected them from the rough waters of the 
127 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


open river and made them invisible to passing 
craft. 

“Your work'll be mostly to keep him 
amused in this cove and to see to it that he 
does stay in the cove. You 're not to let him 
. out of your sight a minute, and if he gets to 
acting so that you think he wants to get away, 
you 're to let me know, and if we can’t keep 
him quiet by persuasion and kind ways, I guess 
we can find some other method that will do the 
trick, though it won’t increase his enjoyment of 
his visit any." 

“ I think I understand," said Fred. “ You 
want me to make him enjoy his visit if possible, 
and, if I can't do that, I 'm to see that he keeps 
on visiting whether he wants to or not." 

“ That 's the idea," nodded Righter. “ Only, 
if you can help it, you must n't make him the 
least suspicious that he is n't here entirely of 
his own free will. We don’t want him to know 
that he 's got to stay whether he likes it or 
not." 

“ And if he asks questions, I 'm not to know 
anything? " suggested Fred. 

“ Not a blamed thing. You 're just here 
working for me. I engaged you to-day. You 
don't even know who owns this houseboat nor 
anything about her. You don't know anything 
128 


THE TABLES TURNED 


that he wants to know except about sailing 
and swimming and fishing and keeping him 
generally amused and having a good time.” 

“ I understand/’ said Fred, “ and, of course, 
I don’t know anything about him ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Righter firmly. 
“ You meet him for the first time when I bring 
him aboard some time this afternoon or to- 
morrow morning. Your orders are to act as 
companion to him and do pretty much as he 
wants you to.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said the boy. 

Fred had no intention of staying on board 
the houseboat until Blake and Walter Desbor- 
ough should arrive. He was merely playing 
his part in the game he had begun to allay 
Righter’s suspicions. Meanwhile he was de- 
termined to watch carefully for an opportunity 
to escape, and, if he once got on land, his 
course would be clear. He would make for 
the nearest telegraph office and wire the whole 
story to Mr. Ball. His lack of money would 
not be an obstacle in such a case, for he would 
simply have the operator ask the Morning Call 
office whether it would pay for a message sent 
by Fred Spencer and he could send as much as 
he liked. He imagined how the whole staff 
would gather about the telegraph instrument 
129 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


as his story came over the wire. He could pic- 
ture to himself the amazement of the reporters, 
young and old, and of Mr. Ball’s wide-eyed 
astonishment when the clicking instrument 
told him that this young man whom he had so 
reluctantly allowed to go on so hopeless a quest 
had succeeded far beyond his wildest expecta- 
tions and had secured material enough already 
for him to work upon with his staff and score 
the biggest “ beat ” of years. Fred already 
felt that the coveted position of reporter was 
his, for surely some time during the day the 
opportunity would present itself for him to 
slip quietly overboard and swim to land. The 
boy’s rosy dreams of the future were sud- 
denly broken by a startled exclamation from 
Righter. 

“ Hello,” cried the man, “ what does that 
mean ? ” 

He rose and walked to the side of the boat 
and stood there for a long time, gazing out 
upon the broad expanse of river, his eyes 
shielded from the sun by his raised hand. 
Fred followed his gaze and saw, jutting above 
the tongue of land that hemmed in the cove, 
the top of the funnel of a vessel of some kind. 
Her hull was hidden below the point, but he 
felt certain that she was a tug and, if so, there 
130 


THE TABLES TURNED 

was only one tug that could so arouse Righter’s 
interest. 

“ Bill,” shouted the man, “ come up here 
quick.” 

Fred heard a scramble of hurried footsteps 
below, and soon Bill’s head appeared in the 
hatchway. 

“What’s up?” he growled. 

“ Look out there,” said Righter, pointing to 
the funnel. “ Is n’t that the Vixen? ” 

Bill gazed long and earnestly riverward. 

“ That ’s her, all right,” he agreed. 
“ They ’re back quicker than they expected.” 

“ Must have met the ship in the bay,” said 
Righter. “ She ’s made a quick passage.” 

“ Want me to go out with you? ” asked Bill. 

Fred felt his heart jump. If they both went 
to the tug, his escape would be easy. 

“ No,” said Righter, and the boy’s heart sank 
again, “ you stay here with the kid.” 

The lame man stumped to the stern of the 
houseboat and disappeared down a ladder. 
Soon Fred heard a chug-chugging and a sput- 
tering, and Righter swept easily around the 
stern in the launch that had taken him off the 
tug the day before. She was a swift little 
craft and it was only a few moments before 
she was out of sight behind the tongue of land. 

1 3i 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Fred hoped that Bill would go below, now that 
his mate was gone, but this hope was soon 
dashed. 

“ Well, sonny/’ said Bill, “ Righter said I 
was to stay with you and when he says with 
you he means with you and not under you 
or near you. That ’s one thing you want to 
learn about Righter at the start. Always do 
just exactly what he says and not nearly or 
what you think he meant to say. Let ’s sit 
down and be comfortable. No use standing 
and getting ourselves tired in the legs.” 

Bill suited the action to the words and 
slumped down luxuriously in a wide wicker 
chair. Fred sat sideways on the railing that 
ran around the upper deck and wondered what 
would happen if he did not get away before 
Charles Blake came aboard. He was certainly 
in a tight place now. Bill’s words gave him 
no hope of a chance to slip away, and he knew 
better than to dive overboard and trust to luck 
to beat this strong, experienced waterman to 
land. 

“ Are you much of a swimmer, Mr. Bill?” 
he hazarded. 

“ Me? ” laughed Bill easily. “ Why, young 
fellow, my father’s name was Fisher and my 
mother’s name was Fish ; they kept a fish stall 
132 


THE TABLES TURNED 


up in a place called Fishtown; my first food 
was fish and I ’ve lived pretty much on fish and 
over fish and among fish all my life. Can I 
swim? Why, young fellow, if Righter could 
walk as good as I can swim, you ’d never know 
he was lame. ,, 

Fred was now absolutely without hope. Not 
even the possibility that Blake would not re- 
turn with them was left him, for he had dis- 
tinctly heard Righter say, “ I 'll expect you.” 

Minute after minute slipped away, the boy 
casting about him desperately for some scheme 
of escape. But Bill sat there, calm and omi- 
nous until they once more heard the chug- 
chugging of the motor launch. 

“ Here they come,” said Bill, rising labori- 
ously and walking over to where the boy sat 
on the rail. “ There ’s Righter and there ’s the 
kid and there ’s the Boss.” 

Fred gave one despairing look at the little 
craft, and at the sight of Blake sitting sullenly 
in the stern all his discretion was thrown to 
the winds. He jumped down from the rail- 
ing, dashed across the deck, and with a despair- 
ing cry dove head first over the other side and 
struck out madly for the shore. 

He heard Bill shout after him, but he did 
not even turn. Then he heard a splash and 
i33 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


he knew that the strong man had followed him 
over the side and that a race for life had be- 
gun. But the boy was no match for the man. 
Bill had not exaggerated his powers as a 
swimmer when he had boasted of them to the 
boy a few moments before. It was not long 
before he had caught up with the struggling 
lad and fixed a firm hand in the collar of his 
shirt. 

“ Come here, doggone you ! ” he shouted. 
“ What do you mean by trying to give us 
the slip like that? There must be something 
wrong with you, and I guess me and Righter ’ll 
find it out. Now/’ tightening his grip on the 
boy until Fred thought he would choke, “ will 
you come back peaceable with me or must I 
throttle you first and tow you back ? ” 

“ I ’ll come,” gasped the boy, “ only I can’t 
get my breath when you hold me so tight.” 

He swam at the side of his captor, and the 
two soon climbed dripping on board the house- 
boat. Righter, Blake and the boy were watch- 
ing them curiously from the upper deck. 

“ Now you come up with me,” commanded 
Bill. “ We ’ll see what Righter and the Boss ’ll 
have to say to this.” 

Fred climbed the ladder and stood dripping 
and sheepish before the group that had awaited 

134 


THE TABLES TURNED 


him. He heard Blake give an exclamation 
first of surprise and then of delight, and, as he 
looked at his tormentor, Blake burst into a 
loud laugh. 

“ Well, as I live, it ’s my friend the re- 
porter, he cried between guffaws. “ I surely 
am glad to see you. You disappeared so sud- 
denly and mysteriously from the tug that I 
was afraid I should have considerable trouble 
explaining how it all happened. But, here! 
Why, here you and I can have several enjoy- 
able little talks, and I think I shall be able to 
bring you around to my way of thinking on 
that little matter we were discussing when we 
met last.” 

The man’s tone suddenly changed. His ban- 
tering note gave way to one of wrath and men- 
ace as he turned to Bill. 

“ Take that boy below,” he thundered, “ and 
put him under lock and key. I ’ve a score to 
settle with him later.” 


i35 


CHAPTER XIV, 


THE PRISONER ON THE HOUSEBOAT 

Fred stood for a few moments eyeing the 
man before him fearlessly. Whatever ner- 
vousness he had felt in anticipation of this 
moment, now that it had come and he saw the 
fury in Blake’s eyes, he found himself sud- 
denly grown strangely calm and self-reliant. 
The man, by his very loss of control, confessed 
his wrongdoing, and his violence was proof that 
he feared Fred and was not safe while the boy 
was at liberty. 

“ Take him below,” repeated the infuriated 
man. “ There are things that he and I must 
settle between us and this is no time for 
them.” 

“ Mr. Blake,” said Fred calmly, “ there is 
just one thing I want to tell you before you 
start to do anything you are likely to regret. 
If I am not back in the office of the Morning 
Call safe and sound within a very short time, 
their best reporters and the police — ” 

136 


PRISONER ON THE HOUSEBOAT 


Blake interrupted him by wheeling suddenly 
to the fair boy at his side. 

“ Walter,” he said in a tone of hasty com- 
mand, “you will oblige me by going to the 
other end of the boat. I have heard this young 
ruffian’s conversation before and I can assure 
you it is not fit for the ears of a refined 
gentleman.” 

Walter seemed reluctant, but he slowly 
obeyed. 

“ Very well, Uncle,” he said. “ I will 
do as you say, though I really should never 
have suspected him of being a ruffian. He 
seems to me to be a very gentlemanly sort 
of fellow.” 

“ Yes,” said Blake with a sneer. “ He ’s a 
good actor. He even fooled me until I dis- 
covered what a hardened criminal he really 
is. Go, now. I want to speak to him and 
I prefer you not to hear.” 

Fred waited until the English lad was out 
of earshot. Then he continued : 

“ As I say, I shall soon be searched for by 
the reporters aided by the police, and when they 
find me — ” 

Blake interrupted with a scornful laugh. 

“ When they find you,” he said. “ That 
‘ when ’ makes a whole lot of difference in this 
U7. 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


case. I don't think they are very likely to look 
for you here." 

“ Possibly they would not under ordinary 
circumstances/' answered Fred, “ but you for- 
get Paddy O'Day." 

It was a wild shot on Fred's part. He had 
not the slightest idea what Paddy had done 
after missing him from the engine room, but 
he felt certain that the Irish lad had not be- 
trayed their secret and that it was safe to use 
the name of Paddy at least as a prod to find 
out how strong his foes really were. And he 
was surprised at the result. 

Blake's face turned purple with suppressed 
rage. Never had Fred seen a human counte- 
nance so distorted by all the baser emotions that 
sometimes rise to the surface and show us how 
near the beasts we are, after all. The man 
positively writhed in an agony of inward fury 
that could find no adequate outlet. His hands 
twitched open and shut at his sides as though 
they longed to get the fingers imbedded in the 
flesh of their enemies. 

“ So O’Day was in it after all, was he?" 
shouted the man. “ I thought as much even 
when the rascal professed his innocence. Oh, 
if I only had him here now with you. Would n't 
I make it hot for both of you! Righter " — he 


PRISONER ON THE HOUSEBOAT 


turned to his employee — “ this makes it im- 
perative that I return to the city this evening. 
Get the launch ready. I must get hold of that 
young Irishman at once, as soon as I can leave 
Walter without creating suspicion. Now, take 
this fellow below and lock him in so that he 
can’t get out. I ’ll be down and see him again 
before I go.” 

Bill took Fred’s arm and swung him roughly 
around. 

“ Come along, young fellow,” said he* 
“ We ’ll have another little talk about that 
’ere catboat o’ yourn, an’ I’ll tell you some 
more about how good I kin swim.” 

“I’ll go along quietly,” said Fred. “You 
need n’t hold me quite so tight.” 

“ I ’ll hold ye th’ way I ’ve got ye,” said Bill. 
“Thet ’ar fancy divin’ stunt o’ yourn ain’t 
jest t’ my likin’, an’ I guess ye ’ll be safer this 
a-way.” 

He almost dragged the boy down the ladder 
and into the houseboat. When they came to 
the room in which Fred had spent the night, 
Bill paused and examined it reflectively. 

“ I guess this ’ll do nice,” he said. “ Th’ 
winder is barred good an’ strong, an’ with th’ 
door locked ye kin yell an’ holler all ye’ve a 
mind to an’ it won’t disturb nobody. Jest set 
i39 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


down an’ make yerself perf cly comfy. Maybe 
I ’ll bring ye somethin’ t’ eat before mornin’, 
an’ then ag’in maybe I won’t, so don’t go t’ 
workin’ up no appetite. So long.” 

He went out and closed the door, locking it 
upon the outside. Fred sat down upon the 
edge of the bed and stared vacantly about him. 
Certainly there was nothing he could do to 
help himself now. He thought of calling Blake 
and promising to drop the case entirely as the 
price of his liberty, but he knew that it would 
be impossible for him to keep such a promise. 
He rose and paced up and down the little room 
that had been his haven of refuge and was now 
turned into his prison. He examined the bars 
nailed tightly and strongly across the window. 
There was no hope of release in that direction. 
He walked to the door, but the lock was strong 
and, even if he should succeed in breaking it, 
it would only serve to land him once again in 
the arms of his enemy. He was bottled up, 
helpless, hopeless and entirely at the mercy 
of the men whose captive he was. 

Hour after hour passed drearily by as Fred 
alternately sat in deep thought and paced up 
and down in excited but vain planning. The 
smell of savory cooking came to him and re- 
minded him that he had an appetite and, to 
140 


PRISONER ON THE HOUSEBOAT 


judge from its edge, a very healthy one. But 
Bill had spoken as though it was very im- 
probable that the boy would get any dinner. 

“ I did n’t know I was so hungry until I 
smelled that cooking,” said the lad to himself. 
“ That smells like steak. Um-m-m. What I 
could do with a steak now. But I guess my 
friend Blake is having dinner before running 
up to town to find Paddy and, as he will un- 
doubtedly have a talk with me before he goes, 
I am afraid he will be too busy with his own 
affairs to think of my poor stomach.” 

But Fred was mistaken. Even while these 
thoughts were occupying him, the key was 
turned in the lock and Bill entered, bearing 
in his arms a tray loaded down with a meal 
such as Fred had not eaten in a long while. 

“ With th’ compliments uv th’ Boss,” said 
that worthy. “ An’ t’ show there ain’t no hard 
feelin’ and won’t be none ef ye ’ll act sensible 
in this here little afifair. You just git on th’ 
outside uv this, an’ then th’ Boss ’ll be in t’ have 
a talk with ye, an’ I don’t see no reason fer my 
part why ye can’t fix this thing up between ye.” 

Bill waited as though he expected a reply, 
but Fred made up his mind to save all his argu- 
ments for the only man who had the power to 
release him from his present unpleasant pre- 
141 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

dicament, Charles Blake. The boy ate with a 
gusto that astonished even himself, and Bill 
stood watching him, grinning from ear to ear. 

“ Looks like ye had a good appetite/’ he ob- 
served. “ Ye must be purty sure ye ’re cornin’ 
out o’ this here scrape all right or ye could n’t 
eat hearty like that.” 

“ Say, Bill,” said Fred confidentially, “ I 
have a habit of coming out of everything all 
right. I arranged everything beforehand so 
as to prepare for just such an emergency as 
this. Why, don’t you know that the best men 
on the Morning Call's staff are on their way 
down here at this very moment? You take my 
tip. Just stay aboard and let on you ’re carry- 
ing out Mr. Blake’s orders until you scent 
trouble. Then I ’ll give you the wink and you 
can repeat that famous dive of yours and do 
another great swim for shore. You just treat 
me right until that happens and, in return, I ’ll 
see that no one chases you until you ’ve had a 
chance to get away.” 

Fred said this with the easy and confident 
air of one who has absolutely nothing to fear. 
He seemed to be conferring a favor on Bill as 
he made his suggestion of flight, and his tone 
was such that the man seemed vastly impressed 
and scratched his head in perplexity. 

142 


PRISONER ON THE HOUSEBOAT 


“ How soon do ye expect them paper fellers 
t’ be here? ” he asked. 

Fred waved a handful of bread and butter 
vaguely in the air and bolted a huge piece of 
delicious meat. 

“ Oh, almost any time,” he answered, his 
mouth full of food. “ There ’s lots of time. 
You see, I want to have another talk with 
Blake and have him lose his temper again. He 
always tells too much when he loses his tem- 
per and, of course, everything he says to me 
will be used against him when he stands in the 
prisoner’s dock.” 

“ Him in th’ pris’ner’s dock! ” exclaimed Bill 
in awe. 

“Why, sure,” laughed Fred easily. “We 
newspaper men get the best of bigger men 
than him. He ’s only an amateur alongside of 
some of them we ’ve sent up.” 

There was the sound of footsteps outside the 
door, and Bill turned. Then he swung savagely 
back upon Fred. 

“ All right, Mr. Smarty,” he cried. “ Here ’s 
Mr. Blake now. Tell him th’ things ye ’re goin’ 
t’ do t’ him when ye git back t’ th’ city.” 

Blake and Righter walked into the room, 
and Bill slunk to the other side of the open 
door. 


i43 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


“ What is it, Bill ? ” asked the Boss. 

In a few words Bill explained what Fred 
had been saying to him. The boy saw the 
Boss’ face darken with growing anger, but he 
noticed that Righter was fairly boiling with 
wrath. Blake advanced threateningly and 
shouted : 

“ You young fool! I might have let you go 
if you had acted with any common sense, but 
now I ’ll keep you here. You ’ll put me in the 
prisoner’s dock, will you? You ’ll let these men 
get away, will you? You ’ll — ” 

The Boss was interrupted by a swift move- 
ment from the enraged Righter. The lame 
man, his face flaming, stumped forward and, 
with a powerful blow of his fist, caught Fred 
fairly on the side of the jaw and sent the lad 
reeling and helpless upon the bed. 

It was this scene that made Paddy O’Day 
fall back into the seat of his little rowboat as 
he watched through the window. 


144 


CHAPTER XV 


HELP VIA WIRELESS 

Fred lay for hours as he had fallen upon the 
bed. The pain in his jaw grew less and less, 
and the anger that had surged all through him 
at being so foully struck had subsided. The 
three men had left him behind locked doors 
and windows, with a parting injunction from 
Blake to guard his tongue more carefully, and 
the whole houseboat had settled into the sound- 
less peace of the night about it. But for Fred 
there was no sleep. 

What could he do to help himself out of this 
dilemma? How could he get word to Mr. 
Ball? Ah, if he only could do that, what a 
sensation there would be that night in the office 
of the Morning Call and next morning all 
through the city. 

Then his thoughts turned hopefully to 
Paddy. The Irish boy, at least, was free and 
knew enough to take some steps toward help- 
ing Fred. What would he do? How could 
145 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

he act so as to effect the young reporter’s 
rescue and yet not allow the other papers to 
get hold of the great beat that Fred had 
started out to score? 

Fred longed to get his fingers on the key of 
a telegraph instrument somewhere — any- 
where. How he would make the wires 
burn calling VG — VG — VG until he heard 
the familiar answer, I — I — VG. And then, 
what a story he would send in and how it would 
instil new life and action into the dusty, dingy 
office so far up the river ! 

Fred’s arm lay along the side of the bed, and 
his fingers worked almost automatically, as 
though he were, in reality, calling his office on 
the wire. VG — VG — VG, he pretended to 
send. “ VG — VG — VG.” He sat up in his 
bed, startled. Surely he must be dreaming. 
No, it was sounding somewhere clearly and 
distinctly — “ VG — VG — VG.” Fred jumped 
from the bed, too astonished to know just what 
to do. He stood in perplexity in the middle of 
the floor, brushing his hand before his eyes and 
looking here and there as though trying to find 
out where the sound came from. Surely, he 
told himself again, it was only his imagination. 
It could not possibly be real. But again and 
persistently it came — “VG — VG — VG.” 
J46 


HELP VIA WIRELESS 

Fred again tried to locate the sound and 
decided that it came from the spot where the 
floor joined the wall under the window. But 
how possibly could a telegraph instrument be 
there? Suddenly Fred remembered Paddy's 
ingenious method of calling his attention to 
the rowboat as he stood on the dock waiting 
to put off in the Vixen . Paddy! That must 
explain it. Paddy and his clever “ wireless 
telegraph," as Fred had called it. But how had 
Paddy got away down here? How — Fred 
stopped wasting time in speculating. “ VG — 
VG — VG," the sounds kept persistently 
clicking. 

It was the work of a few moments only to 
find his pocket knife, and a short search showed 
him that the best and most available method of 
using it was to move a chair up almost against 
the wall and click the knife between the chair 
leg and the wainscoting. His instrument was 
in shape in no time and he clicked out — “I 
— I — VG." 

“ This is PO," came the answer. It was 
Paddy’s signal, used in their practice work at 
home. 

“ I ’m in the water," went on the Irish boy. 
“ Blake and Righter gone up river in launch." 

“ They ’ve gone to get you," clicked Fred. 

147 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


“ Better call them back; they’re going in 
wrong direction,” came the answer. “ What 
do they want me for ? ” 

“ Knock your head off,” clicked Fred. 

“ I ’ve got head with me. Brought it along. 
Thought might need it.” 

“ Why in water?” asked Fred. The boys, 
as is usual with telegraph operators, abbrevi- 
ated their messages, leaving out all unnecessary 
words. 

“ Afraid they would see boat, so left it on 
shore.” 

Fred’s heart leaped with hope. Paddy had 
a boat! 

“ Come out on deck and make break for 
shore,” clicked Paddy. 

“ Can’t,” answered Fred. “ Locked in.” 

“ Here comes Bill,” clicked Paddy. “ Keep 
on making noise while I get out of sight. Make 
him think it comes from you, so he will go 
away.” 

Fred heard the man’s heavy tread approach- 
ing on the deck over his head, and he kept 
his knife working aimlessly, merely to make 
his captor think that the sounds came entirely 
from within the houseboat. The man must 
have stood there in perplexity for some time, 
for it seemed many minutes to the prisoner 
148 


HELP VIA WIRELESS 


before he heard the footsteps move away. 
Then came Paddy’s clicking again. 

“ He ’s going down ladder,” the boy in the 
water informed Fred. “ Will probably come 
in to see what you ’re doing. Bluff it out and 
let me know when safe for me to begin again.” 

Paddy was right. Fred heard the heavy 
footsteps approaching and, as they neared the, 
door, he knew that Bill changed his tread to 
as light a tip-toe as it was possible for his 
weighty feet to make. The boy swung his 
chair around, sat down with his feet upon the 
edge of the bed and began idly tapping the 
rungs of the chair with his knife. The door 
swung suddenly open, and Bill stood there 
glowering at him, but Fred tapped on as though 
he were merely passing away time and had no 
other motive in making the noise. 

“ What’s all that pounding?” asked Bill 
suspiciously. 

“ What pounding? ” asked Fred with an ex- 
pression of perfect innocence upon his face. 

“ Why, that noise you ’re making with your 
knife,” answered the man. 

“ Oh,” exclaimed the boy, looking at the 
offending knife as though he had just become 
conscious of its existence. “ Did the noise 
bother you ? I beg your pardon, I ’m sure. 

149 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

But you must admit, it ’s rather lonely and un- 
interesting sitting here all alone and I ’ve got 
to amuse myself some way.” 

“ Why don’t ye go t’ bed? ” suggested Bill. 

“ Well,” answered Fred, feeling his jaw 
tenderly, “ your friend Righter has a rather 
heavy fist and that punch he gave me was 
enough to knock the sleep out of any one.” 

Bill grinned appreciatively. 

“ He ’s a purty good hitter,” he admitted, 
“ but he ain’t in it with me. I jest tell ye that 
so you ’ll know what ’s cornin’ t’ ye ef ye try 
any monkey shines with me. But you behave 
yerself an’ maybe I ’ll let ye out on deck in 
th’ mornin’ t’ git a breath uv fresh air. Good 
night.” 

He closed and locked the door again, and 
Fred heard his heavy footfalls die away in the 
distance. As soon as the boy was sure he was 
safe from further molestation, he rigged up 
his “ wireless telegraph ” outfit again. 

“PO — PO — PO,” he clicked. 

“ I — I — PO ” came the answer almost 
immediately. 

“ Don’t see how can get away to-night,” 
said Fred. “ Bill says maybe let me up on deck 
in morning. Better wait till then.” 

“ What if Blake comes back before? ” 

150 


HELP VIA WIRELESS 


“ He won’t. He ’ll spend night looking for 
you.” 

“ If he finds me I ’ll never know how much’ 
trouble I ’ve been in till he gets back. If you 
can’t get out to-night, I ’d better get to shore. 
Cold in water.” 

“ How far away is your boat? ” 

“ Under trees straight inshore about three- 
quarters mile from here. Cranky old scow. 
Stole her. Hope to give her back to owner 
when we ’re through with her. Not much to 
look at, but may come in handy.” 

Fred heard Bill’s footsteps again. 

“ Here comes Bill,” he clicked. “ Better get 
to shore. Good night.” 

“I — I. G. N.” G. N. is the operator’s 
signal for “ good night.” 

Fred had barely enough time to swing his 
chair around and again assume his careless 
attitude with his feet upon the bed when the 
door opened and Bill reappeared. 

“ Say, young feller,” he began, “ cut out thet 
poundin’, will yer ? It may be all right an’ as 
ye say jest t’ pass th’ time away, but it sounds 
almighty suspicious an’ as if ye was poundin’ 
at somethin’ an’ tryin’ t’ git some o’ them bars 
loose. ’T ain’t no use, though, I ’ll tell ye 
straight. Righter an’ me nailed them bars up, 

151 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


thinkin’ p’raps we ’d need ’em fer some one 
else an’ when we start t’ fix up a nice little place 
fer a feller to git in an’ stay in, we gin’rally 
manages t’ do th’ job neat an’ tidy an’ so ’s t’ 
give complete satisfaction — leastwise so fer 
as we ’re concerned.” 

“ I have n’t touched the bars,” said Fred. 
“If you don’t believe me, look at them and 
see.” 

Bill walked over to the window and ex- 
amined it closely. Then, apparently satisfied, 
he again took up his station in the doorway 
and stood surveying the boy from head to foot. 
It was evident that Bill was troubled about 
something. Fred determined to find out what 
it was. He had a suspicion that Bill was still 
worried about the possibility of the Call re- 
porters appearing on the houseboat ,and he 
made up his mind to find out just how deep an 
impression his “ bluff ” had made. 

“ I have n’t touched the windows and I don’t 
intend to,” he said in an easy and confident 
tone. “ I ’m not trying to get out. Why should 
I ? When I leave this room it won’t be through 
the window. It’ll be through that door and, 
the way things are going, I should n’t be sur- 
prised if they made you open it for me your- 
self.” 


152 


HELP VIA WIRELESS 


“ They? ” asked Bill uneasily. “ Who d’ ye 
mean by ‘ they ’ ? ” 

“ I guess you know well enough/’ replied 
Fred doggedly. “ What ’s the use going all 
over the whole thing again? You probably 
don’t believe me and I ’m not worrying 
whether you do or not. I ’m perfectly com- 
fortable here and I ’ll just enjoy myself until 
they get here and then I shall walk right out 
of that door and tell them what ’s been going 
on here and who ’s been mixed up in it.” 

Bill shifted from one foot to the other. He 
was still suspicious of trickery, but it was 
evident that he was far from easy in his 
mind. 

“Do you mean them reporter fellers?” he 
asked. 

Fred nodded. 

“ The reporters — and the police. Oh ” — 
as he saw that Bill started in terror — “ we 
always work with the police in a case like 
this.” 

Fred had assumed an air of easy noncha- 
lance that made it appear as though he were 
merely taking part in an ordinary discussion 
of every-day affairs that had no very great 
personal interest for him. He shrewdly saw, 
however, that this very bearing of confidence 
i53 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

was having its effect on the man before him. 
Bill became more conciliatory in his tone. 

“ I suppose ye git used t' bein' handled rough 
like ye 've been here ? " he suggested. 

Fred waved his hand in a matter-of-fact 
gesture. 

“ Oh, yes/' he answered. “ We don't mind 
it, though. It does n’t hurt us much and it 
gives us just that much more evidence to bring 
against a man." 

“ I ain't touched ye," Bill reminded him hur- 
riedly and earnestly. “ Jest remember, I ain't 
touched ye scarcely since ye come aboard. An' 
don't fergit I saved yer life out there in th' 
river th' night ye come here. Ye know I saved 
yer life, don't ye? " 

Bill was evidently anxious now. His tone 
was pleading, and the boy felt that he was fast 
winning a mastery over the man that he might 
turn to good advantage later. 

“ I shall not forget that, Bill," he said kindly 
and condescendingly. “ Yes, whatever I shall 
be forced to do against Blake and Righter, I 
shall remember that I owe my life to you and 
I shall ask the judge to be as lenient with you 
as possible." 

At the mention of the word “ judge " Bill's 
face went ashen. He started to say something, 
i54 


HELP VIA WIRELESS 


thought better of it, turned to go and then 
paused undecidedly on the threshold. 

“ Say, young feller/’ he said, “ you jest turn 
in an’ git a good night’s sleep an’ first thing 
in th’ mornin’ I ’ll bring ye a good breakfast 
an’ ye kin take a turn or two on deck t’ digest 
it. Then maybe we kin fix it so ’s ye won’t 
have t’ stay here no more at all. What ’s th’ 
use uv keepin’ ye here locked up fer any- 
way, as I says t’ Righter? But, course, ye 
know I ain’t boss here an’ I got t’ do what I ’m 
told.” 

Fred felt wildly exultant, but he was careful 
not to show it. 

"All right,” he said calmly. 

“ An’, say,” Bill hesitated, “ maybe it won’t 
have t’ git so fer as th’ jedge — at least not my 
part uv it, eh ? ” 

“ Oh, I guess we can fix that,” said Fred. 

But call me early in the morning. My people 
will probably be here about nine.” 

Again Bill was on the point of saying some- 
thing, but turned away. He closed the door 
behind him, locked it, unlocked it again and, 
opening it a few inches, said: 

“ About nine, ye say? Well, soon’s I give 
ye yer breakfast in th’ mornin’, I ’ve got t’ go 
ashore an’ git some more supplies. Guess 
155 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

about seven o'clock 'd be a good time fer me 
t' start, don't ye think so ? " 

Fred smiled at the success of his ruse. He 
knew that Bill was planning flight. 

“ Well," he answered, “ about six, I should 
say. That 'll give you plenty of time to get 
back before my friends arrive." 

“ Good night," said Bill, closing the door. 
“ I 'll bring ye a coat an' a pair of shoes, too, in 
th' mornin'." 

“ Good night," said Fred, and, throwing him- 
self wearily upon the bed, he was soon fast 
asleep. 


CHAPTER XVI 


BILL SEES THE ALLIES 

It was still pitch dark when Fred was 
awakened by Paddy’s tapping on the hull of 
the houseboat. The boy sprang from his bed 
and looked out of the window, but the night 
was black, with heavy lowering clouds cover- 
ing the sky and a downpour of rain to add to 
the discomfort. Paddy must have had a mis- 
erable night of it under the trees, and Fred 
could imagine how chilly it must be in the 
water. As quickly and silently as possible he 
arranged his chair and briefly outlined to 
Paddy his talk with Bill after the two boys 
had been interrupted the evening before. 

“ I have plan to scare him away,” tapped 
Fred. “ Get boat.” 

“ I Ve got boat,” answered Paddy. “ So 
dark and raining and blowing so loud, no dan- 
ger being heard or seen. What is plan ? ” 

“ Row over to entrance to harbor,” ordered 
Fred. “ Stay there. When daylight comes 
157 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

and Bill and I are on deck, I ’ll tell him friends 
are already here. He won’t believe. I ’ll offer 
to prove it. I ’ll signal to you like fog horn. 
You row around point so as to be seen. Wave 
to me and ask if any orders. Bill will get 
scared and I ’ll offer to give him a chance to 
get away. He ’ll leave coast clear.” 

“ O. K.,” answered Paddy. “ Good scheme. 
I ’ll go now and be ready at daybreak. Not 
long now. Good-bye.” 

Fred thought he heard the scraping of the 
boat against the hull upon which he stood, but 
he could not be sure. The wind was howling 
outside and, even in this snug harbor, the 
heavy swell of the river was sweeping in and 
the houseboat rocked and swayed from side to 
side. Paddy would have a hard time of it in 
a cranky little rowboat, but Fred knew what a 
good waterman the Irish boy was and had no 
fear for his safety. 

The prisoner on the houseboat sat down and 
waited with what patience he could muster un- 
til daylight came. It was a long and dreary 
wait. The rain beat down unceasingly upon 
the awnings that covered the upper deck, and 
the wind caught their edges and flapped them 
furiously to and fro, cracking them like the 
whips of cart drivers. Gradually the black 
158 


BILL SEES THE ALLIES 


outside grew to a faint gray and the gray 
lightened until it was as near daylight as it 
was likely to get while the storm lasted. The 
lad rose in growing impatience and paced up 
and down the floor of the little room that 
formed his prison. His suddenly conceived 
plan of frightening Bill seemed more excellent 
the more he thought of it and he wanted to 
put it into execution at once. He heard foot- 
steps on the houseboat, but they sounded far 
away and did not come any nearer, and he 
made up his mind that it was Bill getting 
the breakfast. Soon the odor of frying bacon 
and boiling coffee told him that he had guessed 
right and brought him the added information 
that he was as hungry as a bear. But it was 
a long time before relief came to him. Finally 
the lock was turned and Bill stood in the 
doorway. 

“ Young feller,” he said, “I ain't takin' 
quite so much stock in thet ar yarn o' yourn 
as I did last night. Guess I felt sorter creepy 
bein' all alone on th' boat an' it bein' sorter-a 
spooky night. But this mornin' I 'm feelin' 
purty fit an' somehow yer little yarn don't go 
down so easy.” 

“ Oh,” said Fred nonchalantly, “ I told you 
last night I did n't care whether you believed 
i59 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

me or not. I 'm the same way about it this 
morning. It does n't make the slightest differ- 
ence to me how you take it. I was mistaken 
in only one thing and that was the time I told 
you my friends would arrive. I said nine 
o'clock. Well, they got here sooner than I 
expected." 

“ Got here," exclaimed Bill in a tone of 
anxiety that betrayed his real feeling. “ Do 
yer mean t' say they 're here now? " 

“ Exactly," replied Fred. 

“ Whereabouts ? " demanded the man. 

“ Oh, on shore," answered Fred with a care- 
less wave of the hand. 

“ Why don't they come aboard an' git ye, 
then ? " asked Bill suspiciously. 

“ What, and catch no one but you here? " 

Fred laughed with derision as though to 
say that Bill was not an important enough per- 
sonage for his friends to waste their time 
over. 

“ No, Bill," he assured the crestfallen man. 
“ They 'll only scoop you up if you happen to 
be here with the others. They 're waiting for 
the big people." 

"You mean Blake and Righter?" gasped 
Bill. 

“ Exactly." 


160 


BILL SEES THE ALLIES 


“ Nonsense,” declared Fred’s guardian 
stoutly. “ I don’t believe yt.”' 

Fred shrugged his shoulders. 

“Very well,” he answered carelessly. 
“ After breakfast you come up on deck with 
me and I ’ll show you how quick I can call 
help if I want it.” 

Bill again looked puzzled. In spite of his 
efforts to appear at his ease, he secretly feared 
that the lad before him might, after all, be 
telling the truth and that help was near. 

“You say you’ll show me?” he asked. 

“ Bill,” said Fred in pretended anger, “ you 
really annoy me. I said as plainly as I know 
how that I would show you. I only do it be- 
cause you saved my life. As a matter of fact, 
I could just as easily have kept you in entire 
ignorance of the fact that I have been ex- 
pecting assistance and, as I said, you would 
have been scooped up with your two cronies. 
But you ’ve been as decent to me as your 
limited intelligence allows you to be to any 
one, I suppose, and I must take that into con- 
sideration when I balance accounts.” 

“ Gee,” exclaimed Bill in astonished admira- 
tion. “ You talk jest like one of them ar books. 
I s’pose ye git them big words from writin’ so 
much. It sounded fine.” 

161 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Fred smiled, but he was too hungry to waste 
any more time in words. 

“ When do I get breakfast ? ” he asked. 

“ Right away. Right away,” exclaimed 
Bill, jumping out of his trance of admiration 
and acting much as an obsequious waiter in 
a restaurant. “ Come right along an’ I ’ll give 
ye a breakfast that ’ll do yer heart good. An 
I ’ll git ye th’ coat an’ shoes, too.” 

Fred followed the man toward the stern of 
the houseboat and into the snug little dining- 
room. He looked about him in vain for a 
trace of Walter Desborough, but could find 
none. His plan was to explain everything to 
the English lad after frightening Bill off the 
boat, take him up to the city to the office of 
the Morning Call and there let Mr. Ball inter- 
view him according to the latest developments 
in the case. This, he felt, would indeed be a 
triumph — to bring the most sought-after boy 
in the world straight to the office, before even 
the police knew where he was. And, to judge 
from the servile and cringing attitude of Bill, 
it would not be hard to accomplish. 

Fred decided, however, not to risk success 
by asking questions too soon. Bill had not yet 
had any ocular proof of the near-by presence 
of Fred’s allies, and the boy determined to wait 
162 


BILL SEES THE ALLIES 

until the sight of Paddy answering his call 
should completely subdue the man and bring 
him into abject submission. 

The young reporter began his breakfast in 
silence but with a hearty relish that showed 
that his past dangers had in no wise interfered 
with his appreciation of the good things of life. 

“ Bill,” he said finally between mouthfuls, 
“ you certainly can cook. It ’s a shame a man 
of your abilities should be such a crook.” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Bill meekly. 

“And you are a crook, you know,” con- 
tinued the boy. “ You 're about as bad a lot 
as I should care to meet, and when I say that 
I don’t mean to slight your friends Blake and 
Righter.” 

“ Oh,” said Bill with a note of admiration 
in his voice. “ They ’re shrewd uns an’ no 
mistake. Ef I wuz as clever as Righter I ’d 
— well, I would n’t be here now.” 

“No,” answered Fred, “you wouldn’t. 
You ’d be in jail where you belong.” 

“ Yes, sir,” agreed Bill humbly. 

Fred found it difficult to keep from laugh- 
ing at the changed attitude of his guardian. 
The boy was now the master of the situation; 
the man the captive. 

“ Now,” said Fred as he finished, “ I feel fit 
163 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


to deal with your two friends as soon as they 
get back from their trip to the city.” 

“ They ain’t both cornin’ back,” volunteered 
Bill. “ Only Righter ’s cornin’ back. Blake ’ll 
stay in th’ city an’ git thet young feller Paddy 
O’Day an’ what he ’ll do t’ thet boy ’ll be a 
shame.” 

Fred laughed aloud. 

“ What’s th’ matter?” asked Bill gruffly. 
“ Don’t ye think Blake kin do it ? ” 

“ Why, Bill,” said Fred, “ you fellows ought 
to be in the kindergarten or playing marbles 
at school. I can have Paddy O’Day aboard 
this houseboat in two minutes if I want 
him.” 

“Ah, g’wan,” said Bill in unutterable dis- 
belief. “ You let me see you do that an’ I ’ll 
believe anythin’ ye ’ve a mind t’ tell me arter- 
ward. Paddy ’s in th’ city or Blake ’d never 
uv gone arter him. Blake don’t make no sich 
fool mistakes as thet.” 

Fred rose with a determined expression on 
his face. 

“You come to the upper deck with me,” 
he said. “ I ’m going to show you what I can 
do just to warn you that it won’t be healthy 
for you to fool with me.” 

Without a word, Bill disappeared and soon 
164 


BILL SEES THE ALLIES 


came back with a coat and a pair of shoes which 
Fred put on. 

The boy walked majestically to the stern of 
the boat, Bill following, his lower jaw dropped 
in wonder. Here, indeed, was his captive, go- 
ing to prove that Righter and Blake, those in- 
comparable schemers, were but toys in his 
hands. If he, a mere stripling, could work 
such wonders, what would be the power of the 
force of seasoned reporters that he claimed to 
have at his beck and call? Surely they must 
be more powerful and penetrating than even 
the police, and Bill had a terror of the police. 
He was an abject looking sight as he shuffled 
heavily in the wake of Fred until they had 
reached a point about amidships, and there the 
boy stopped, looking out over the rail toward 
the points of land that formed the entrance to 
the harbor. 

The young reporter gazed long and hard 
through the rain that was still driving down 
upon the face of the river. The wind howled 
wildly about them, making even conversation 
difficult, and Fred feared that his signal would 
not carry against it. Yet there was no draw- 
ing back for him. He had gone so far that 
his scheme must work perfectly or Bill would 
turn upon him with the fury of a wild beast 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

for having been so mercilessly hoodwinked. 
The boy shaded his eyes from the drops that 
the wind drove under the awning and swept 
the point with his sharp eyes. Then, relieved, 
he turned to the man at his side. Everything 
was all right. Fred had seen Paddy under 
a tree, and the Irish boy had waved his hand 
to show that he was awaiting the signal. 

“ Do you know Paddy when you see him? ” 
asked the lad. 

“ Sure I do,” said Bill. “ You produce him 
and I ’ll know who it is, all right.” 

Fred made a trumpet of his two hands and 
pointed it to the expectant ally. 

“ Who-o-o-o ! ” he called in imitation of the 
fog whistle of the tug Vixen . 

Almost instantly Paddy shot out in his boat 
from under the trees and began rowing for 
the houseboat. Fred heard Bill utter an ex- 
clamation of surprise and he knew that he had 
won the day. 

“ Who-o-o-o ! ” he called again. 

Paddy stopped rowing and lay on his oars a 
hundred feet or more from the houseboat. 

“ Is everything all right?” shouted Fred. 

“ Aye, aye, sir,” called Paddy.; 

“ The whole force there ?. ” 

“ Aye, aye, sir.” 


BILL SEES THE ALLIES 


“ Tell Ball that Blake will not come back. 
Righter will return alone some time this morn- 
ing. Tell Ball to send Smith and Roberts 
and Benson and McAvoy back to the city 
to get Blake. Smith knows where he ’ll 
be. Tell Ball to keep the other four men 
here — ” 

“ There ’s nine others, sir, not counting my- 
self,” shouted Paddy, who saw at once what 
Fred was trying to do. 

“ All right,” shouted Fred. “ Five of you ’d 
better stay there and wait for Righter. You 
stay where you are and watch out for signals. 
Send the other four over to the other side of 
the houseboat and tell them to look out for this 
man here in case he tries to escape — ” 

Bill grasped Fred’s arm and almost sobbed 
into his ear. 

“ Oh, don’t let ’em git me, sir,” he pleaded. 
“ Ain’t I bin good t’ yer ? Ain’t I treated yer 
right? Didn’t I save yer life? Don’t let ’em 
git me.” 

Fred turned again to Paddy. 

“ I ’ll let this man go if he behaves right,” 
he shouted. “ Watch him when he rows away 
from the boat. If I wave my handkerchief, 
let him go and don’t follow. If I don’t wave, 
grab him and don’t let him have any mercy. 

167 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


That ’s all. Good-bye and keep a sharp 
lookout.” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” called Paddy. The Irish 
lad touched his cap as he would to a superior 
and, rowing away, was soon lost to sight again 
among the bushes and trees that lined the 
shore. 

As Fred turned again to the cringing man 
at his side he saw for the first time that they 
were not alone. 

Walter Desborough, tall and fair and almost 
girlish looking, stood regarding them with a 
puzzled expression on his handsome face. 
Then he turned to the man who had been left 
to protect him. 

“ Bill,” he demanded, “ what does this mean? 
Why is this young ruffian giving orders about 
arresting you and my uncle and Mr. Righter? 
If you are in danger from him, let me know. 
I have my revolver in my pocket and I ’m con- 
sidered a very good shot at the butts. If 
you say the word, I ’ll shoot him where he 
stands.” 


1 68 


CHAPTER XVII 


ALMOST A VICTORY 

Fred did not flinch as he looked into the 
calm and determined eyes of the boy before 
him. He could not help feeling admiration 
for the English lad. Desborough must have 
known that he was in a tight place of some 
kind, but he did not betray the slightest emotion 
on his pallid face. He stood erect and soldierly, 
his right hand in the hip pocket of his trousers, 
his gaze going straight into Fred’s eyes, un- 
moved, unflinching, expressing neither anger 
nor excitement, but only the calm determi- 
nation of the trained soldier to do his duty 
as commanded, regardless of the consequences 
to himself. 

“ Desborough,” said Fred impulsively, 
“ you ’re a plucky chap and you and I are 
going to be good friends before we ’re done 
with this affair. You will not need your 
weapon. I think Bill here will tell you that 
everything is all right and that, whatever I do, 
I am acting in your best interests.” 

169 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Desborough turned calmly to the man who 
was cringing in abject cowardice at Fred's 
side. 

“ Speak up, Bill,” he said with a note of 
scornful command in his voice. “ I distinctly 
heard this young ruffian order the arrest of 
my uncle. What does it mean ? ” 

“ Look here/’ interrupted Fred in some heat, 
“ you cut out that ‘ ruffian ' business. You 'll 
do just what I say here, for I 'm in command 
of this houseboat for the present. You 'll get 
fair and gentlemanly treatment so long as 
you act the part of a gentleman, but if I hear 
you apply that word 6 ruffian ' to me, I 'll give 
you the worst whipping you ever had in your 
life and I won’t call for any help to do it 
either.” 

“ It 's all right, Mr. Walter,” put in Bill 
hastily. “ Don't call this here young gentle- 
man no ruffian, sir. He ain't, honest, he ain't. 
He 's a reporter gentleman an' I must say, 
sir, as how he 's caught your uncle in some 
work as ain’t much to his credit. But I can't 
explain that to ye now, sir. I 've got t' git 
ashore quick as I kin an' git some supplies. 
Guess I '11 be goin' so 's t' be back soon 's I 
kin.” 

The man started for the stern of ftie boat, 
170 


ALMOST A VICTORY 


but Walter called him back with an imperious 
gesture. It was evident that this young Eng- 
lish gentleman was used to being obeyed. 

“ You 'll stay exactly where you are,” said 
.Walter. “ I ’ll have a satisfactory explanation 
of this matter before I ’m left alone with this 
— this — ” Fred made a threatening move- 
ment forward, and the English boy hesitated 
for the first time. Then, evidently considering 
discretion the better part of valor, he pro- 
ceeded, — “ this young man.” 

“ Well, sir,” said Bill, scarcely knowing 
which way to turn, “ ye see, th’ fact uv th’ 
matter is thet — thet — ” 

“ The fact is,” interrupted Fred impatiently, 
“ that I ’m master here and that things will be 
done exactly as I say. All explanations will 
be made where and when I decide to have them 
made and you and Bill will obey my orders to 
the letter or it will be the worse for you. I 
have ten men within a moment’s call and, if 
I am forced to resort to them, I can assure you 
both that you will be roughly handled. Now, 
young man, you hand over that revolver.” 

“ I shall do no such thing,” declared Walter 
emphatically. 

Fred turned angrily to the man at his 
side. 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


“ Bill,” he commanded, “ go take that re- 
volver from that young fool.” 

Bill edged up closer to Walter, but as he did 
so the English lad again put his right hand 
back to his hip pocket. Bill stopped short in 
his advance. He was evidently frightened. 

“ Go on, Bill,” commanded Fred. “ No sig- 
nal to the shore when you put out unless you 
do exactly as I say.” 

Bill edged around as though to get in back 
of his prey. Walter turned with him until his 
back was toward Fred. With the leap of a 
tiger the young reporter was upon him in- 
stantly. He threw his right arm about his 
victim’s neck, squeezing with it and pushing 
hard with his left arm in the small of Walter’s 
back. This put the English boy completely at 
his mercy, for a very slight pull with his right 
arm and pressure with his left would have 
choked his victim or, if hard enough, would 
have broken his neck. In spite of his handi- 
cap, Walter began to make a valiant struggle 
for his liberty. Fred put on the pressure and 
felt his opponent gradually grow limp in his 
arms. He dropped him upon the deck. 

“ Now, Bill,” he said, straightening up, “ get 
that revolver.” 

Bill bent over Walter as he sat, still gasping 
172 


ALMOST A VICTORY 


and holding his hand to his neck where Fred’s 
arm had left a red mark. 

“ You need n’t bother,” said Walter sullenly, 
“ I have no revolver.” 

Fred laughed aloud. His admiration for 
this plucky English boy increased a hundred- 
fold. 

“ Well,” he muttered to himself, “ from be- 
ginning to end, this whole affair has been the 
biggest game of ‘ bluff ’ I ever heard of. I ’m 
going to like that fellow first rate. He ’s got 
spunk and he ’s got brains and the two com- 
bined are going to make it hard for me to 
get the better of him until I can convince him 
that I am his friend.” Then, aloud, he said : 

“ Bill, just look through his pockets to make 
sure. I don’t propose to take any chances.” 

Bill made a careful search, after assisting 
Walter to his feet. The English boy had told 
the truth. He had not a weapon in his pos- 
session — not even a pocket knife. 

“ All right, Bill,” said Fred when the search 
was completed. “ You ’d better go now.” 

Bill did not need a second invitation. Every 
moment of delay had increased his fears, for 
he expected Righter to return at almost any 
time, and this, according to his idea of Fred’s 
plans, would be the signal for the newspaper 
173 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

men to swarm aboard the houseboat and take 
its occupants prisoners. Bill had no intention 
of being present when this ceremony took 
place. He had therefore invented the necessity 
of a trip to shore for “ supplies ” and he was 
anxious to be off so as to get as long a start 
as possible on pursuers. 

It did not take the man five minutes to go 
below, gather all his belongings into a bundle 
and get into the rowboat that was moored 
astern. He rowed up to where Fred and 
Walter stood at the rail and lay on his oars. 

“ Ye ’ll give tlT signal all right, won’t ye, 
sir ? ” he asked anxiously. 

“ Yes,” Fred assured him. “ Only first I 
want you to tell this young man of your own 
free will that I am working in his interests 
and that it will be best for him to trust me.” 

“ Oh, indeed it will, Mr. Walter,” said the 
man solemnly. “ Ef I wuz you, I ’d do jest 
what this here young gentleman says. You ’d 
better go back to th’ city with him ef he wants 
ye t’ go an’ he kin explain everythin’ there. 
Well, sir, ef that ’s all, I ’ll be off so ’s t’ git 
back in time. Ye ’ll give th’ signal, won’t ye, 
sir?” 

“ Go ahead,” said Fred. “ I ’ll give the sig- 
nal when you near the shore.” 

i74 


ALMOST A VICTORY 


Bill leaned on his oars a moment, gazing 
wistfully at the entrance to the harbor, as 
though contemplating flight directly out into 
the broad river, but he thought better of it and 
pulled around the bow of the houseboat and 
headed straight for shore. 

Fred and Walter stood watching him as he 
got farther and farther away and when they 
saw him turn his head over his shoulder and 
stop rowing, Fred took his handkerchief from 
his pocket and waved it, as though signaling 
to his allies on shore. When Bill saw this 
action, he turned again to his oars. 

“ Now, sir,” said Walter, “ I ’ll ask you to 
come down from that high and mighty perch 
of yours and explain right here and now what 
these high-handed proceedings mean. With 
Bill gone, I have only you to deal with and, 
if your explanation is not thoroughly satis- 
factory, you and I are going to have the fight 
of our lives and I ’m going to whip you. Then 
I ’ll put you back in your prison where you 
belong and you ’ll stay there until my uncle 
returns. Out with it, now, and be quick.” 

Fred’s face flushed with anger and he felt 
a strong impulse to try conclusions with this 
self-confident Englishman at once. But, he 
reflected, this would involve delay, to say noth- 
i75 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

ing of the risk of Walter’s getting the better 
of the argument, and Righter might return at 
any moment. He decided, therefore, to resort 
to strategy again. Walking over to the railing 
that ran all around the upper deck on which 
they stood, he again made a trumpet of his 
hands and imitating the Vixen's fog horn 
emitted a long drawn “ Who-o-o ! ” 

Almost instantly Paddy’s boat shot out from 
among the trees. The Irish lad rowed straight 
for the houseboat until within fifty yards of it 
and then lay on his oars. 

“ Do you want help, sir ? ” he asked as 
though addressing a superior officer. 

“ Not right away,” answered Fred. “ I ’m 
having an argument with this young gentleman 
and he threatens to become violent. Just lay 
on your oars where you are and keep your eye 
on us and at the first sign of trouble come 
aboard.” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Paddy, saluting re- 
spectfully. 

Fred turned again to Walter Desborough. 

“ Now, sir,” he said in a determined tone, 
“ you are coming with me back to the city and 
you are coming at once. I refuse to make any 
explanation until we get well under way. You 
must simply accept my word for it that I am 
176 


ALMOST A VICTORY 


acting as your friend. I can explain it all as 
soon as we get started, but delay at present 
would seriously interfere with my plans. Will 
you come quietly, or shall I call my friend? ” 

Walter’s lips curled with scorn. 

“ It ’s well for you that you have your friend 
with you,” he said, “ you ’d be afraid to try 
conclusions alone with me.” 

The hot blood mounted to Fred’s cheek. 

“ Look here,” he shouted, “ you keep a civil 
tongue in your head or you ’ll get a thrashing 
that you ’ll remember for the rest of your life. 
I had intended being friendly with you, but 
now I ’ve changed my mind. You ’ll go along 
with us whether you want to or not. I ’ll 
promise you only one thing and that is that as 
soon as I ’m through with you in a business 
way you and I shall stand up in a fair fight 
and if I don’t give you the licking of your 
life my name’s not Fred Spencer.” 

Fred stamped angrily to the rail again. 

“ Paddy,” he called, “ you ’d better come 
over. This young fellow needs a sharp lesson.” 

“ Aye, aye, sir,” said Paddy, and he turned 
to his oars. 

“ You win for the time being,” said Des- 
borough calmly. “ I ’ll go below and get my 
things.” 


1 77 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

He climbed down the ladder and Fred waited 
until Paddy had come alongside. 

“ You need n’t come aboard,” said the young 
reporter. “ He ’s decided to come quietly. 
Row around to the stern. There ’s a board- 
ing ladder there and we can get into your boat 
more easily.” 

Paddy rowed away, and Fred waited pa- 
tiently for Walter to reappear. Minute after 
minute passed, and, with his suspicions grow- 
ing, Fred walked forward and began climbing 
down the ladder that led to the deck below. 
He was suddenly arrested by a sharp com- 
mand from Walter. 

“ Stay where you are,” ordered the English 
boy. 

In his surprise Fred wheeled toward the 
window of the cabin. He looked squarely into 
the barrel of a revolver, and following its line 
saw Walter’s calm eye taking steady aim at 
him. 

“ Now,” said the English boy, “ the tables 
are turned. I ’m locked in here and you and 
all your friends cannot enter before I drop 
half a dozen of you. But you ’ll find it hard 
to signal them. I ’ve got you covered now and 
I ’m coming out to bind you hand and foot. 
Then, you young ruffian, I guess I ’ll get that 
178 


'ALMOST A VICTORY 

explanation I demande3 of you. I told you I 
was master here. I ’m going to prove it to 
you now.” 

Quick as a flash he opened the door, scarcely 
giving Fred time to take advantage of the few 
moments when the revolver did not cover him. 
But Fred was not watching Desborough. His 
eyes were fixed in despair on the entrance to 
the harbor and his hands were hanging list- 
lessly to his side. All the fight seemed to have 
gone out of him in an instant. 

Desborough noticed the change in his cap- 
tive and followed his gaze across the water. 
What he saw made him understand the despair 
of the boy before him. 

Puffing impudently through the wind and the 
rain, cleaving the white water away in graceful 
curves from her sharp bow, came the little 
gasoline launch, and in the stern, his hand at 
the wheel, sat Tom Righter. 


179 


CHAPTER XVIII 


WALTER HELPS HIS ENEMY 

Both boys watched the launch in silence as 
she approached. The waves, dashed up by the 
storm, broke into showers over her weather 
quarter and whipped a cold spray over the 
man at the wheel, but Righter shook them off 
and kept his steely eyes fixed on the houseboat 
ahead of him. He had seen Fred standing on 
the forward deck and knew at once that things 
had gone wrong during his absence. Foot by 
foot the launch crept up upon them, and still 
Fred stood there, too dumbstruck to move. 
Then he pulled himself together for a des- 
perate attempt to escape before the lame man 
should come aboard and again make him a 
prisoner. 

But Walter Desborough was watching him 
keenly. 

“ Stay where you are,” said the English 
boy’s calm, steady voice. Fred glanced at his 
captor and again looked into the unwavering 
180 


WALTER HELPS HIS ENEMY 


muzzle of his weapon. He was helpless. 
Walter and Righter now had him completely 
at their mercy, and he realized, with a sinking 
heart, that the time had passed when “ bluff ” 
would count for anything. It would now be 
man to man, and the odds were terribly against 
the young reporter. 

“ Your friends seem to be letting their prey 
slip through their fingers,” said Walter sar- 
castically. 

Fred bit his lip with vexation. His whole 
carefully thought out scheme that was just on 
the verge of success was falling to pieces about 
him and was exposed as a colossal piece of 
fiction, pathetic now when its flimsiness was 
shown. 

“ Had n’t you better give your signal ? ” con- 
tinued Walter in the same fine, even tone of 
mockery. 

Fred did not answer. There was nothing 
he could do or say. He could not even shout 
a warning to Paddy, who was moored at the 
stern of the houseboat, for to do this would 
be to give Righter the victory over both boys. 
Paddy could never escape in a race with the 
swift little gasoline launch, and the two boys 
would soon find themselves prisoners, worse 
off than ever before. There was, therefore, 
181 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

nothing for Fred to 3o but stand there silently 
waiting his fate, trusting to luck that Paddy 
would find out for himself how the tide of 
battle had changed and make good his escape 
to shore. 

“ Come, come ,” mocked Walter. “ You 
surely are n’t going to let a villain like Righter 
succeed in getting aboard, are you? Why, if 
he once gets here and he and I barricade our- 
selves in this cabin, you and your whole crowd 
of ruffians could never get us out. You notice, 
I presume, that I used the word ‘ ruffian ’ ? I. 
believe that you threatened to do something 
awful to me if I used that word again. Well, 
you had better begin at once.” 

Fred could hardly control himself. His face 
was red with the rage that he kept choking 
back. It was bad enough to have all his plans 
go awry without having to stand there help- 
less and submit to the biting sarcasm of the boy 
he had, only a few moments before, threatened 
to whip within an inch of his life. But Walter 
had the upper hand now and Fred knew it. 
The captive turned and faced his tormentor 
over the leveled revolver. 

“ Some day soon,” he said bitterly, “ you and 
I will have a chance to settle our little account. 
The sooner that time comes the better it will 
182 


WALTER HELPS HIS ENEMY 


suit me. I started out in this matter to act 
as your friend and to save you from the ter- 
rible wrong that your uncle and these men of 
his are doing to you and which you seem to be 
ignorant of. I shall continue to act in your 
best interests, but it will no longer be because 
I feel any friendly sentiment toward you, but 
simply because my business in this matter 
makes it necessary. I shall win yet and you 
will come to me and ask my pardon for the 
way you have acted. But before you do that, 
I renew the promise I made you a short time 
ago — to give you the best thrashing you 
have ever had. Now, your friend Righter 
is here and I am at your mercy for the time 
being.” 

The launch nosed her way up to where the 
two boys stood, and Righter, springing into the 
bow after stopping the engine, made her fast 
to a cleat. 

“ What ’s the meaning of this ? ” he de- 
manded angrily, glowering at Fred. 

Fred did not answer. He had said his say 
and he determined that silence would be the 
best policy for him. 

Briefly Walter explained to the lame man all 
that had happened since he had left. 

“ So Bill ’s skipped? ” demanded Righter. 

183 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ Frightened away by this fellow’s fairy 
tale,” said Walter. 

Righter cast another baleful glance at Fred. 

“ And what ’s this fine young man been tell- 
ing you was the reason for his nervy actions ? ” 
asked the man. 

“ Oh,” said Walter, “ he has n’t had time to 
explain much, but I gather that he intended 
telling me just about what you and uncle said 
he would — that you were both in league 
against me and that he was trying to save me.” 

Righter sprang aboard the houseboat and 
advanced threateningly toward Fred. He 
grasped the boy roughly by the arm and swung 
him almost ofif his feet. 

“ You ’re bound to get yourself into more 
trouble, ain’t you?” he shouted fiercely. 
“ Why can’t you have sense enough to keep 
out of other people’s business? You’ll be 
sorry for this the longest day you live. 
Walter,” turning to the young man in the 
window, “ open that door. We ’ll put this 
fellow away for awhile until we get time to 
decide what to do with him. It ’s going to 
be rough weather here and we ’ll have to 
get things shipshape before the storm gets 
worse.” 

Walter disappeared, and soon the door swung 
184 


WALTER HELPS HIS ENEMY 


Open. Righter gave Fred an angry shove that 
sent him headlong into the cabin, and he was 
marched without ceremony through a long 
passageway toward the stern of the craft until 
he came to the room where he had been a 
prisoner. 

“ Now, you get in there,” commanded 
Righter, enforcing his order with a savage 
kick that made Fred tingle with rage. The 
door slammed behind him, the key grated in 
the lock and he was left alone with his bitter 
regrets at the failure of his promising plans. 

Now, for the first time, Fred had a chance 
to realize how wildly the wind was blowing 
and how severe was the storm that raged out- 
side. He felt the heavy houseboat heave under 
him with the swell of the water and he knew 
that the river outside the harbor must be terrible 
in its fury. It was difficult for him to keep his 
footing as the craft in which he was im- 
prisoned tossed up and down and to and fro. 
He heard the wind shrieking through the awn- 
ing that covered the upper deck, the edges 
snapped and cracked like pistol shots and every 
timber in the strongly built boat creaked with 
the tremendous strain of the rocking. How 
had Paddy lived through such an upheaval in 
his crazy little craft? Had he, indeed, man- 

185 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

aged to elude the sharp eyes of Righter and 
get away to shore? 

Fred rose and gazed through the window. 
It was almost impossible to see through the 
driving rain, but he fancied that he could make 
out in the dim distance under the trees of the 
shore a shadow that resembled a rowboat. 
Was it his imagination or had Paddy really 
succeeded in riding out the waves? Dear old 
Paddy! How staunch and true he was and 
how faithful and unselfish in risking his com- 
fort, his position, even his life itself to be near 
his friend in the hour of need! 

Distant thunder rumbled and a blinding 
flash of lightning leaped across the black sky 
in the west. 

“ We ’re in for a hard night,” said the lad 
to himself. 

Again came the crash of thunder, this time 
nearer, and the lightning leaped almost im- 
mediately afterward. The storm was coming 
fast. White caps raced over the face of the 
dark water, the wind swirled them into fine 
spray and dashed them spitefully into the air. 
Above his head Fred could hear the iron awn- 
ing poles creaking and groaning in their 
sockets as the tremendous strain of the canvas, 
bellied upward with the full strength of the 
1 86 


WALTER HELPS HIS ENEMY 


gale, almost bent them. Outside it had become 
dark as midnight, except when the singing 
streaks of lightning were sent hurtling across 
the sky, to crash with deafening impact into 
the earth about the harbor. 

The houseboat was now tossing about like 
a mere chip of wood on the heaving waves. 
It seemed hardly possible that a harbor so 
completely shut in by the long arm of land 
that curved around it should be so stirred by 
the storm. The open river itself would be a 
perfect maelstrom at such a moment, and, un- 
comfortable as was Fred's position, he felt 
thankful that he was not out there in an open 
boat, as he would have been had his plans suc- 
ceeded. It was surely better to wait for an- 
other opportunity than to meet the terrible fate 
that would inevitably have overtaken the boys 
had they put out for the city as Fred had in- 
tended doing. 

Louder and louder howled the wind. The 
thunder came with more frequent impact, each 
crash more deafening than the last and fol- 
lowed by lightning flashes, blinding in their 
brilliancy, numbing to all the senses as they 
hurtled across the sky, terrifying in the 
thought of the death and destruction they 
carried with them. Fred had as staunch a 
187 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

heart as ever beat in a boy’s breast, but even 
he quailed as he stood looking out of the win- 
dow at the raging elements. What if the 
houseboat were to break from her moorings 
and be driven on a rock or, worse still, out into 
the open river! Fred was alone, helpless, 
locked in. There would be no possibility of 
his escape. He would be drowned like a rat 
in a trap and no one would ever know the 
story of villainy that would be buried with 
him. What if the lightning should strike the 
boat and the timbers catch fire! In such .a 
gale how quickly the flames would eat their 
way along the whole craft, hungry, devouring, 
relentless, until they reached the room in which 
he was confined. What if — 

There was a sudden crash as if the heavens 
themselves had tumbled about the houseboat. 
A blinding flame shot through the vessel and 
made her quiver and shake from bow to stern. 
Fred was hurled back against the wall as 
though he had been struck a powerful blow on 
the chest ; he felt the roof of his mouth go dry 
and taste salty, every nerve tingled as though 
with electricity, and his brain swam until he 
was too dizzy to stand. He reached out and 
grasped the back of a chair, to be thrown to 
one side as the boat heaved under him. 

1 88 


WALTER HELPS HIS ENEMY 


It was only with a tremendous effort that 
he at last regained control of himself. There 
was still a ringing in his ears as though the 
crash were echoing and re-echoing through his 
head and a thin mist swam before his eyes, but 
he brushed his hand across them and stood 
erect. He heard Righter’s voice uttering loud, 
hoarse shouts of command to some one on the 
upper deck. The scraping of feet sounded over 
his head as though men were being tossed 
about by the rocking of the craft, and then he 
felt a motion that made him sick at heart. 

The houseboat was shuddering convulsively. 
This Fred would have expected in such a 
storm, but with each side movement he felt a 
sinking, very slight but unmistakable, and the 
full meaning of it burst upon him with the 
suddenness of the lightning's flash. 

The houseboat was going down! She was 
sinking and he was locked in his little room! 

With a cry of terror, the boy leaped like a 
maniac at the door. He tore at the handle, he 
pounded, he threw his full weight against the 
stout panels, but the wood and the lock held 
firm. There was no escape there. Then he 
noticed for the first time that the crash that 
had thrown him against the wall had shat- 
tered the glass in the window. He ran over 
189 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

to it and pulled madly at the bars, but they 
were nailed to resist just such an onslaught 
and did not give the fraction of an inch. 

In sheer weariness of muscle Fred stopped. 
Fie stood undecided in the centre of the room, 
casting about him for some other avenue of 
escape, but none offered itself. Then his 
thoughts flashed to his faithful friend ashore. 
If Paddy could hear him through the howling 
of the gale, there would still be a slight hope. 

Again the lad ran to the window. He made 
a trumpet of his hands through the bars and, 
with all his strength, shouted: 

“ Paddy — Pad-ee. Pa-a-a-dee-ee. He-e-lp.” 

The wind howled and seemed to throw his 
voice back at him in mockery. Twice — three 
times — four times, he shouted. Righter’s 
voice, excited, angry, horribly profane, came 
down to him from above. 

“ No, by God, no ! ” shouted the man. 

There was a crash on the upper deck, and 
soon Fred heard footsteps running toward his 
door. What could this mean? Had the hard 
heart of Tom Righter softened and was he 
going to give his helpless captive a chance for 
life after all? 

Fred leaped forward with a yell as the door 
was flung open. Walter Desborough stood 
190 


WALTER HELPS HIS ENEMY 


there, his face deathly white, but his jaw set 
firmly in a determination that was keeping his 
terror well under control. 

“ I don’t care who or what you are,” shouted 
the English boy above the roar of the storm. 
“ I could n’t let you die like that. The house- 
boat has been struck. She is afire and sinking 
fast. You ’ll have to take care of yourself, 
for Righter will not let you get away in the 
launch with us.” 

“ I ’ll remember this,” shouted Fred. “ It ’ll 
mean one less blow for you when I give you 
that licking.” 

He held out his hand impulsively toward the 
English boy, but Walter drew himself up 
proudly. 

“ I ’ve let you out,” he said with as fine scorn 
as he could convey through the roaring of the 
elements, “ but I don’t shake hands with your 
kind.” 

He turned instantly and, with another shout 
of warning to Fred to hurry, dashed through 
the long passage to the forward deck. 


CHAPTER XIX 


RIGHTER IS OUTWITTED 

Fred dashed madly after his fleeing liber- 
ator. A whiff of smoke in his nostrils told 
him all too plainly that the houseboat was on 
fire and that quick work would be necessary. 

Through the long passageway they ran, the 
heaving of the craft throwing them first 
against one wall and then against the other. 
Walter was not three feet ahead of Fred as 
they dashed through the door to the forward 
deck and up the ladder to the deck above. 
Here the footing was even more insecure than 
it had been below. Fred cast his eyes about 
him over the water of the harbor that had been 
so calm and peaceful and seemingly safe only 
a few hours before. Now the placid face of 
the bay was turned into a raging vortex of 
angry water, wave dashing against wave and 
breaking high in spray to be swirled about by 
the wind and scattered in all directions. 

In such a sea no swimmer could live five 
192 


RIGHTER IS OUTWITTED 


minutes. His only refuge was the houseboat 
and, as he suddenly remembered the smell of 
smoke that had assailed him as he ran through 
the passage below, he noticed for the first time 
the dull, red, flickering glow of light that came 
from the stern and shone in fitful gleams upon 
the bay about the craft. His last hope was 
gone. The houseboat was afire where the 
lightning had struck her, and the wind would 
soon drive the flames relentlessly through her 
entire length, devouring all before them and 
leaving nothing but a charred and blackened 
mass of wood to sink beneath the waves where 
once had floated the houseboat Seven Wonders , 
famed for miles around as the largest and most 
luxurious summer home of its kind to be found 
on the entire Atlantic coast. And Fred would 
be left to go down with her. Of that he felt 
little doubt. Walter had told him that Righter 
would not take him away in the launch with 
them, and he knew the man’s vindictive nature 
well enough by this time to be certain that no 
words of his could soften his heart. It was 
Righter’s chance to get even with the boy who 
had caused him so much trouble and who 
threatened to land him and his employer in 
prison. No, Fred could hope for no assistance 
there. 


i93 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


Over the heaving Heck he made his way to 
where Walter Desborough stood clinging to 
one of the awning poles. The English lad’s 
pluck was oozing away fast. His face looked 
ghastly in the darkness, and the expression of 
his eyes told Fred that the first unpleasant dis- 
comforts of sea-sickness had come to add to 
his already great share of troubles. Walter 
was looking anxiously over the railing at some- 
thing below. Fred followed his gaze and saw 
Tom Righter, hatless and coatless, straining 
and heaving at something in the little launch, 
moored alongside the houseboat immediately 
below where they stood. 

“ Blast the thing,” shouted the enraged man. 
“ I can’t make her start. I knew something 
would go wrong. I caught her smoking on the 
way down and found I did n’t have enough oil 
turned on.” 

Righter had not yet seen Fred. The man 
was bent over the engine in the stern of the 
launch, and the frail and light shell was pitch- 
ing and tossing terribly, at times smashing 
bow on into the houseboat with a crash that 
threatened to shatter her to pieces. Fred 
looked astern again as the glow from the fire 
increased, and saw that they must, indeed, make 
haste to get away before the flames had spread 
194 


RIGHTER IS OUTWITTED 


to where they were standing. Walter followed 
his eyes, and the two boys exchanged meaning 
glances of quick comprehension, but there was 
no friendliness in the face of either one. They 
were frankly enemies, standing together in a 
common danger and working together to get 
out of it safely, but the eyes of both had a 
steely glint in them that promised a settling of 
old scores the minute the danger should be 
passed and leisure should come. 

“ You ’d better find some way of escape,” 
shouted Walter. “ He swears he won’t take 
you with us.” 

Righter looked up at the sound of the boy’s 
voice and for the first time noticed Fred stand- 
ing above him. 

“ Blast your infernal young hide,” he yelled, 
shaking his fist in impotent rage. “ If it had n’t 
been for you and your meddling, we would n’t 
be in this fix now. It was on your account 
that I had to take that darned trip to the city 
and burn out these bearings.” 

He bent again to his task, fuming and swear- 
ing all the time and vowing terrible vengeance 
upon the young reporter. But the engine was 
in a bad way. Time after time, he threw the 
heavy fly-wheel around, but, with a wheeze 
of protest, it pulled back and settled into its 
i95 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


accustomed position. Again the man looked 
up, his face more hideous than ever with his 
wasted efforts and his suppressed wrath. 

“ You see what you ’ve done? ” he bellowed. 
“ You see what you ’ve done? Well, you wait, 
young fellow. When that fire — ” he pointed 
to the flame that had licked its way through the 
roof and was now eating into the very centre 
of the houseboat — “ when that fire gets too 
hot for us, Walter and I are going to cast off 
in the launch and row to a safe distance. Then 
we ’ll lie to and watch your antics while you 
dance around on that hot deck. I think, prob- 
ably, we ’ll see you give an exhibition of fancy 
diving and rough-water swimming that will be 
worth watching, but I don’t believe it ’ll do you 
much good. Because — ” he shook his fist 
again with the fury of an enraged tiger — 
“ because, if I see that you ’ve got a chance to 
get ashore, I ’m going to row over and give you 
a tap on the head with an oar that ’ll fix you 
for keeps.” 

Fred knew that the man meant every word 
he said. He looked again at the onrushing 
flame and then started and almost cried aloud 
in his astonishment. 

In the circle of light made by the fire as it 
ate its way through the woodwork, tossing 
196 


RIGHTER IS OUTWITTED 


about as though every wave would swamp it, 
was a crazy old rowboat, and on the thwarts, 
rowing for dear life against the terrific odds, 
sat Paddy O’Day. At the same instant the 
Irish boy looked over his shoulder and his eyes 
met Fred’s. He gave a toss of his head and 
again bent to his task, for it needed all his at- 
tention to keep his frail boat bow on to the seas. 

Paddy was coming up on the side of the 
houseboat opposite the one where Righter was 
moored. This brought him toward the open 
river and away from the shore. Fred won- 
dered at this, but he had no time to reason it 
out beyond a flashing thought that Paddy had 
seen the man and was purposely making for 
the side where he could not be seen. 

Fred dashed over to meet his friend, but it 
was long before Paddy was able to bring his 
boat to a landing place. The heavy seas 
surged under her and tossed her time and 
again, first far out from the houseboat and 
then crashing with threatening force into the 
heavy hull. Twice Paddy had her where he 
wanted her and rose in his seat to toss Fred 
a line, but each time the boat was flung back 
and away with a sudden swirl that threw 
Paddy off his feet and landed him in a heap 
in the bottom of the craft. But the stout Irish 
197 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

heart never wavered. The lad gathered him- 
self up again each time for a fresh effort and 
finally sent his bow line whirling and hissing 
over his head, across the railing of the upper 
deck and within reach of Fred’s outstretched 
hands. 

The young reporter was over the railing in 
an instant and ready to drop into the com- 
parative safety of the craft, but he could not 
resist the impulse to gloat over his enemy. He 
turned to where Walter Desborough stood 
curiously watching him, and shouted: 

“ I guess I come out best in this affair after 
all. Hope you get your engine started.” 

He poised ready for his drop as he saw 
Walter rush over toward him and at the same 
instant he felt Paddy’s strong hands grasp his 
ankles to restrain him, as the Irish boy’s voice 
shouted : 

“ Back again. Get back again quick.” 

Fred wasted no time in arguments or in ask- 
ing for explanations. He leaped the railing 
and stood beside Walter. Paddy’s voice fol- 
lowed him in a high, excited shriek. 

“ Grab the b’y — grab the b’y ! ” shouted 
Paddy, relapsing into brogue in the turbulence 
of his emotions. 

Instantly the Irish lad’s plan flashed through 
198 


RIGHTER IS OUTWITTED 

Fred’s mind. Without a second’s hesitation 
he leaped at Walter Desborough and flung his 
arm about the English boy’s neck. Walter 
was so taken aback by the suddenness of the 
onslaught that he was almost carried off his 
feet. He tried to shout for Righter, but Fred’s 
sharp, strong wrist was at his throat, digging 
into his larynx mercilessly and choking him so 
that he could not emit a sound. He tried to 
struggle against the advantage which the at- 
tack had given his opponent, but Fred’s firm 
arm shut off his wind and his head grew dizzy. 
With the strength of despair Walter flung him- 
self around, whirling Fred with him but not 
shaking him off. The grip at his throat had 
become loosened, however, and with a deep 
breath he hooked his left arm and, with the 
full force of his body, upward and inward, 
caught his antagonist a blow under the ribs 
that sent every breath out of Fred’s lungs. It 
was a half-hook, as clean and neat as ever was 
delivered in a prize ring, and it bored fairly 
into a vital spot, left, for the moment, unpro- 
tected by the arm that was about Walter’s 
neck. Fred staggered and fell backward, re- 
covering himself only in time to keep from 
sinking to the deck. He bent over with the 
pain, and his whole body was convulsed with 
199 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

the struggle to regain the breath that the blow 
had knocked out of him so completely. 

Walter whirled about and faced his enemy. 
Quick as a flash he saw that Fred was at his 
mercy and stepped in with his right fist drawn 
back, ready to finish the work already done 
by his left, but Paddy was upon him like a 
tiger, smothering him with a rain of blows that 
made him cover and retreat. 

“ Righter ! ” he shouted. “ Righter ! Come 
quick ! He-e-lp ! ” 

But Fred had recovered and had sprung to 
his friend’s assistance. Back and forth swayed 
the three boys, locked in a close struggle. 
Desperately and valiantly Walter fought, but 
the odds against him were too great, and he 
sank to the deck, unconscious from a blow on 
the head. Instantly the allies picked him up 
and bore him over to where the rowboat was 
moored. His cries for help had been drowned 
by the storm. Righter, totally ignorant of the 
plight his charge was in, worked on at his 
engine, swearing and fuming and vowing the 
most horrible vengeance upon the boy whom he 
blamed for all his troubles. 

The two lads had a hard struggle getting 
their unconscious burden into their boat with- 
out swamping. Finally, each one holding a 
200 


RIGHTER IS OUTWITTED 


hand, they lowered him over the side, and, 
when a wave lifted the craft up toward them, 
they let go. Walter’s helpless form sank in a 
heap in the bottom. 

Paddy and Fred leaped in after him, Paddy 
taking the oars. The Irish boy turned the 
boat’s nose straight out toward the raging river 
and began rowing for dear life. 

“What are you going that way for?” 
shouted Fred. 

“ Mind your own business,” yelled Paddy 
curtly. “ Tie that young scrapper up so he 
won’t be so much trouble when he wakes up.” 

Fred knew there was no time to question 
Paddy’s judgment. He knew that his friend 
would never face the awful perils of the river 
unless there were some very good reason for 
it, so he turned to his prisoner and soon had 
him fast to one of the thwarts, tied with his 
hands behind him so that he could not rise 
higher than a sitting position. Then Fred 
leaned over the gunwale and dashed water over 
the white face on his knees. The eyes slowly 
fluttered open, the lips parted, the chest heaved 
with a great sigh, and consciousness returned. 
Walter tried desperately to sit up, but his bonds 
held him down. Fred bent over and shouted 
in his ear: 


201 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ No use, old man. You made a game fight, 
but we were too many for you. You ’d better 
lie still, for a very slight movement will swamp 
the boat, and not one of us could live five 
minutes in the sea that ’s roaring about us 
here.” 

Walter’s eyes steeled into instant hatred. 

“ I suppose you ’re proud of this victory — 
two against one and jumping on me from be- 
hind into the bargain.” 

“ No,” replied Fred, “ I ’m not proud of it 
— only glad that we ’ve got you. It was busi- 
ness — that ’s all. It was n’t the fight I ’ve 
promised you. That ’ll come later and I know 
now that it ’ll be a beauty, for you ’ve certainly 
taught me to respect that left fist of yours.” 

Walter smiled grimly, but his look was still 
hard and full of hatred and disdain. He strug- 
gled to a sitting position, facing Fred, who 
sat in the stern. He looked about him and his 
face blanched slightly as he saw the maelstrom 
of wild water. Suddenly he turned his ear 
toward shore, listening intently. Then with a 
glad light in his brave eyes he shouted : 

“ Hurra-a-ah ! Right’s got his engine 
started. This way, Righter — this wa-a-a-y ! ” 


202 


CHAPTER XX 


RIGHTER IS LEFT BEHIND 

Fred and Paddy sprang simultaneously at 
their captive, and their four hands clutched 
tightly about his throat. Their movements 
threatened to overturn the boat as she rocked 
on the waves, and Paddy sat down, steadying 
her with the oars. 

“ Easy there, easy,” he cautioned, as Fred 
and Walter struggled. “ Behave, you little 
fool. Do you want us to be turned out into 
the river ? Small chance you 'd have with your 
two hands tied to the thwarts. Be easy now.” 

Walter seemed to recognize the wisdom of 
Paddy's warning, for he ceased struggling and 
Fred released the grip he had around the Eng- 
lish boy's neck. 

“ All right,” said Walter sullenly. “ I 'll 
keep quiet till Righter gets up to us, but if you 
think I 'm going to let you carry me off with- 
out a fight for it you 're mistaken.” 

“ No,” said Paddy, smiling grimly, “ I don't 
203 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

expect that. I 'll give you credit for one thing 
— you 're a fighter and no mistake. And I 
guess, from what I 've seen of you, you 're a 
pretty good one and a fair one into the 
bargain." 

The Irish boy held his oars poised in the air, 
and the three lads sat straining their eyes 
through the darkness. Only a dull red glow 
over the point of land now marked the spot 
where the houseboat Seven Wonders lay burn- 
ing at her mooring. The rain had ceased, and 
frequent rifts in the white clouds that blew 
scudding across the sky, allowed the faint rays 
of the moon to shoot over the waters. Behind 
them the fire on the houseboat glowed and died 
and glowed and died again. 

“ I guess she 's done for," said Fred. “ The 
fire 's about burned itself out. There 's prob- 
ably nothing left of her now but charred 
timbers." 

“ She can’t be entirely burned yet," said 
Walter. “ There 's been no explosion." 

“ Explosion," echoed Fred and Paddy in 
chorus. “ What did she have on board to 
explode? " 

“ Gasoline," answered Walter. “ She car- 
ried a hundred gallons in her supply tanks 
under the forward deck so that there would 
204 


RIGHTER IS LEFT BEHIND 


always be plenty for the launch when she was 
moored away from towns. Hello. There she 
goes.” 

A shower of sparks and flaming embers shot 
high into the air in the west, and the deep 
rumbling boom of the explosion rolled over the 
water to them. Fire leaped up from behind 
the tongue of land and curled in hissing, writh- 
ing flames like golden serpents, only to fall 
back again out of sight, and soon the whole 
sky over the shore was once more dull and 
dark with no light to show them where the 
Seven Wonders had floated in such splendor. 

But the fire had showed them one thing that 
made Paddy dig his oars deep into the water 
and almost bend the blades as he threw every 
ounce of his strength into them. Standing out 
clearly and distinctly against the momentary 
glow he had seen the little launch nosing her 
way out of the harbor entrance and heading 
straight for the boys in the rowboat. The 
chug-chugging of her engine came floating to 
them over the calming waves, and the three 
boys settled to a thrilling chase, thrilling to 
two of them because to be overtaken meant 
defeat and punishment and to the other because 
it meant victory and freedom. 

Paddy rowed as he had never rowed before. 

205 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


Even the strenuous efforts that he had made 
coming down the river trying to escape from 
Uncle Dan Smith were puny in comparison to 
the powerful strokes he was making now, for 
then he was merely racing to escape an uncom- 
fortable predicament ; now he felt that he was 
striving for his life itself. Fred sat impotently 
in the stern of the boat as it leaped from wave 
to wave. He longed to lend his strength in 
the emergency, but there was only one pair 
of oars and Paddy was a better waterman 
than he. So he sat and listened and looked 
and cheered his companion on as best he 
could. 

“ Paddy, you can beat him,” he cried sud- 
denly. “ His engine is not working right. 
It ’s missing explosions. I can hear it plainly.” 

Paddy grunted something from between his 
set teeth, but he did not pause to reply. Fred 
again strained his ears. He was certain now 
that he was right. The throb of the engine 
was very irregular and the strokes did not 
sound with that quick sharp “ chug-chug ” that 
marks the smoothly running machine. He saw 
too that the launch was not making the head- 
way she would have made had everything been 
working properly. Minute after minute passed 
and yet she did not seem to gain on them an 
206 



Paddy, can you beat him?” he cried suddenly. “ His engine 
is not working right. It ’s missing explosions. lean 
hear it plainly ” 


Page 20 6 



RIGHTER IS LEFT BEHIND 


inch. She was still barely discernible in the 
distance and then only when the moon’s rays 
shot for an instant through the clouds. 

“ He ’s in trouble. He ’s in trouble/’ shouted 
the delighted lad. “ Paddy, you can beat him 
as sure as you ’re alive.” 

Paddy grunted again, but there was no con- 
fidence in his grunt this time. He was tiring. 
He felt just as he had felt before he collapsed 
in his race with Uncle Dan Smith. Finally he 
gave it up and shipped his oars. 

“ Quick. You take a turn at it,” he com- 
manded. “ I ’m tired out.” 

The boys exchanged places over the helpless 
form of their prisoner, and Fred settled down 
to his task, determined to row until the last 
vestige of strength should fail him. He caught 
the water sharply with his blades and put his 
whole body into the pull. The choppy waves 
bothered him at first and he caught several 
“ crabs,” but he soon got into his swing and 
the boat sped through the water almost as 
swiftly as when Paddy had had the oars. 

The Irish boy turned his back upon his com- 
panions and devoted his whole attention to the 
boat behind them. He was puffing and blowing 
painfully from his exertions and his mouth was 
parched and dry, but his jaws were set in as 
207 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


determined a grip as ever and there was no 
fear in his honest eyes. 

“ I ’d give next week’s wages for a glass of 
ice water,” he muttered, and then added as an 
after-thought, “ particularly as I’m out of a 
job.” 

He fixed his eyes firmly on the blurred speck 
that marked where the launch was struggling 
along in the distance. For a long time he did 
not speak and there was no sound in the boat 
save the creaking of the oars in the locks and 
the hissing of Fred’s breath as his unusual ex- 
ertions began to tell on him. Finally Paddy 
turned and announced calmly: 

“ She ’s gaining on us.” 

Fred redoubled his efforts, but it was evident 
that he could not last long. Even in the chilly 
wind that blew, the beads of perspiration stood 
out upon his forehead and trickled down into 
his eyes, but he stuck manfully at it until Paddy 
noticed his plight. 

“We ’ve still got a chance,” said the Irish 
boy. “ I ’ll take another turn at the oars and 
you can rest up.” 

Again they changed places, and as Fred took 
his seat in the stern Walter looked up at him 
and nodded with an expression that was nearer 
friendliness than any Fred had yet seen. 

208 


RIGHTER IS LEFT BEHIND 


“ Whichever way this thing turns out,” said 
the English boy, “ you two fellows will have 
one thing to recommend you and that is your 
spunk. I can admire that even if you are all 
that my uncle told me you are.” 

“ All right, Desborough,” said Fred. “ I 
appreciate the compliment, but it does n’t settle 
our score.” 

“ It was n’t intended to,” retorted Walter. 
“ I ’m as anxious as you are for that settlement 
to come. I think I have already proved to you 
that I can take pretty good care of myself when 
the odds are not too great against me.” 

“ You certainly have,” agreed Fred heartily. 

Again he turned his attention to the pursuing 
boat and was almost startled to see the gain she 
had made over them. 

“ Paddy,” he said, “ she gained a lot while 
we were changing places last time.” 

“ All right,” grunted Paddy. “ I ’m going 
to let her catch us pretty soon.” 

Fred stared at the lad in utter astonishment. 

“ Going to let her catch us ? ” he asked. 

“ Sure,” assented Paddy. “If you ’ve got 
that young fellow there tied tight so he can’t 
get away, I think I can show our friend 
Righter a few tricks that will leave him and 
his pretty little launch in bad shape.” 

209 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“What do you mean to do?” inquired the 
thoroughly puzzled Fred. 

‘ Well, you see,” drawled Paddy, “ Right- 
er ’s got to stay in the stern to manage his 
engine. Well, when he ’s in the stern, he can’t 
bother us much. He may ram us a few times, 
but his engine is n’t driving him fast enough 
for that to hurt us any, and besides one of us 
can easily fend off his bow, no matter where 
he tries to strike. Then when he ’s in the stern 
he can’t grab us, and before he could jump to 
the bow one of us could shove him out of 
reach.” 

“ Yes, but he can steer from that wheel in 
the bow,” said Fred. 

“ And leave his engine to run wild,” assented 
Paddy. “ That would do him no good. With 
his engine going, he ’d have to turn all his at- 
tention to holding on after he grabbed us and 
I guess a rap over the knuckles would soon fix 
that. He couldn’t manage things at all be- 
cause he couldn’t stop his boat. And, if he 
stopped his engine first, we could easily jerk 
ourselves out of his way with one turn of an 
oar and there he ’d be, helpless until he ’d 
started his engine again.” 

“ That sounds very plausible,” said Fred. 
“ I had n’t thought of it in that way.” 

210 


RIGHTER IS LEFT BEHIND 


“ Another thing,” continued Paddy, who 
was now making no very great effort to beat 
his pursuer, “ that launch can’t turn quickly. 
No launch can. The rudder can only go 
around so far and he ’d need a circle of at least 
fifty feet in diameter to turn completely around. 
Now I can turn this rowboat practically on its 
own axis. All I do is to give a pull with my 
starboard oar and a push with my port and we 
swing right around. You see, I ’m arguing 
this thing out for my own benefit as well as 
yours. If I ’d thought of it before, I would n’t 
have broken my back trying to get away.” 

The launch was now near enough to them 
for Fred to make out the form of Righter 
crouched in the stern, one hand on the side 
wheel and the other down among the damaged 
machinery. The man looked up and, half ris- 
ing, shook his fist at the boys. 

“ You might as well stop,” he yelled in fury. 
“ It ’s only a question of a few minutes now 
until I get you and when I do — ” 

“ Come ahead, old sport,” shouted Paddy 
defiantly. 

The Irish lad rose to his feet with a whoop 
of joy. His face was aglow with the inspira- 
tion of a new idea. Leaning down under the 
seat in the bow, he hunted with his hand a 
21 1 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


few minutes and then, turning to Fred, said 
in a low tone: 

“ Change seats with me again and do just 
exactly what I tell you. You will see what 
I 'm up to soon." 

“What's that?" asked Fred, pointing to 
something that Paddy had taken from under 
the bow seat and now held behind him. 

“ It 's a hatchet. I sneaked it from the 
houseboat to cut wood for my fire while I was 
camping ashore. I ’ll fix Righter now." 

Fred held out a restraining hand. 

“ No, Paddy," he commanded firmly, “ I 'll 
not agree to bloodshed." 

Paddy laughed easily. 

“ There won't be any bloodshed," he prom- 
ised. “ That is, unless it 's absolutely neces- 
sary to save our lives. But I don't think that 
Righter will get far enough now to be dan- 
gerous. You take your oars and do what I 
tell you and you 'll soon see how I 'll get rid 
of him for good." 

Fred took the rower's seat and prepared to 
start. 

“ Stay where you are," ordered Paddy. 
“ We 'll wait for him here." 

The launch was now within fifty feet of 
them. Paddy leaned astern and shouted: 

212 


RIGHTER IS LEFT BEHIND 


“ Well, Mr. Righter, you ’ve caught us.” 

The man gave a snarl and shut off the 
engine. 

“ Catch her bow then and make fast,” he 
growled. 

“ I ’ll catch her,” said Paddy. 

Righter steered the nose of the boat toward 
the outstretched hand of the boy. As Paddy’s 
fingers gripped her, her bow swept high on the 
crest of a wave, exposing the smooth under 
surface for an instant. Paddy half stood up, 
bracing himself strongly, and, as she sank and 
rose again, the lad leaned far over the gunwale 
and swung his hatchet sideways and upward 
once — twice — thrice — crashing into the 
planking under the launch. Then, with a 
shove he sent her reeling backward and, turn- 
ing to Fred, shouted: 

“ Now pull. Pull for your life.” 

Fred needed no second order. In a moment 
the rowboat was twenty feet away from the 
launch and Righter was hurling a volley of 
the most horrible oaths at the boys. The man 
started his engine again, but stopped it as sud- 
denly and went down on his hands and knees in 
the bow. When he arose his fury knew no bounds. 
Fred shuddered as he heard the profane im- 
precations that were cast at them, but he knew 
213 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


that the chase was over and he bent to his oars, 
heading the boat easily for a clump of trees 
that he could make out on the distant shore. 

Fainter and fainter grew the shadow of the 
launch as they pulled away from her. Finally, 
when she was almost lost to sight, Paddy sank 
into the stern seat with a sigh of relief. 

“ That fixes Mr. Righter until some passing 
ship picks him up/’ he said. “ It was a shame 
to spoil his pretty launch, but I had to drive 
my hatchet clear through her. She must be 
filling fast. She won’t float more than five 
minutes now.” 

“ Well, then, we ’ll have to go back and get 
him,” said Fred firmly. “ I can’t leave him 
to drown like that.” 

“ He won’t drown,” said Paddy. “ The 
launch will only sink about to the gunwales 
and he can hang on until he ’s picked up by 
some passing craft. You ’ll see him again 
when you get back to the city.” 


214 


CHAPTER XXI 


A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS 

When Fred had rowed the boat well beyond 
the chance of its being overtaken by Righter, 
even if the man should manage to fix his launch 
temporarily, he lay on his oars and rested. 
He was completely fagged out. He looked 
astern at Paddy, but the Irish lad was erect 
and his figure still full of energy, and Fred 
took heart again. 

“ Paddy,” said the young reporter, “ we 've 
come through it safely, but you made us run 
an awful risk. Why did you make for the 
river? Why didn't you put inshore at once 
as soon as we got Desborough aboard ? ” 

“ Bill Fisher was there on shore,” said 
Paddy. 

“What!” cried Fred. “Didn't he escape 
when I gave him the chance ? ” 

“No,” answered Paddy. “He seemed to be 
suspicious the minute he got on shore. He 
beached his boat and began sneaking through 

215 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

the underbrush around to the point where you 
were supposed to have your ten men hidden.” 

Fred smiled. It had been a good joke and 
it had almost succeeded. 

“ Then he found out that he had been 
hoaxed, did he? ” asked the young reporter. 

“ He did,” answered Paddy, “ and I guess he 
was pretty mad, too. He went whooping and 
howling through the trees back to where he 
had left his rowboat and cursing and swear- 
ing at you for fooling him. What he said he ’ d 
do to you when he caught you would keep you 
busy dodging for a long time to come.” 

“ But he did n’t come out to the houseboat,” 
exclaimed Fred in perplexity. 

“ No-o,” drawled Paddy slowly. “ Some- 
thing must have happened while he was hunt- 
ing for your men, because when he got back 
to his boat he found that one of her bottom 
planks had got completely torn out and taken 
away somehow or other.” 

Fred laughed long and loud. 

“ Paddy,” he said, “ you ’re a brick. You 
must have been kept fairly busy since you left 
the city.” 

“ I have,” said Paddy, “ too busy to eat. 
Maybe my ideals aren’t very high, but the 
height of my ambition at the present moment 
216 


A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS 


is represented by a thick steak smothered with 
onions, a half dozen baked potatoes, a loaf of 
bread, plenty of butter and a cup of coffee. 
Um-m. That ’s all I ask for now. You can 
have your fame and your fortune, but at this 
minute give me my steak or corned beef and 
cabbage. It 'll be all one to me.” 

Fred laughed again. 

“ Well,” he said, “ it looks as though our 
troubles were almost over. As soon as we get 
to shore, we ’ll hunt up a restaurant and I ’ll 
treat you to as fine a meal as we — ” He 
stopped short and slapped his leg. “ By 
George,” he exclaimed, “ I forgot. I lost my 
coat.” 

“ It ’s in your room at home,” said Paddy. 
“ But that ’s all right. I ’ve got my whole 
week’s wages with me.” 

He put his hand confidently into the pocket 
of his coat and then withdrew it suddenly. 
Springing to his feet, he searched hurriedly 
through every pocket of his clothes, but to no 
avail. 

“ By golly,” he said sadly, “ my whole for- 
tune ’s gone. That was a fine appetite I had 
raised, but it ’s little good it ’ll do me now, as 
my great-uncle said when they came to take 
him away.” 


217 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ Where were they taking your great- 
uncle?” asked Walter innocently. 

Paddy looked at him quizzically for a 
moment. 

“ Well,” he said slowly, “ you see, my great- 
uncle was a wonder for testing everything new 
that was invented. About the time I was 
speaking of, some man he knew had just made 
some new kind of a thing out of a rope — a 
rope with a noose tied on the end of it. Now, 
my great-uncle — ” 

“ Do you mean that he was hanged?” 
gasped Walter, horror-stricken. 

Paddy's jaw dropped and his eyes opened 
wide in mock surprise. 

“ Hanged, is it?” he cried. “ Now, what- 
ever put such an idea as that into your curly 
head? Lay to there, Fred. Let’s be getting 
ashore.” 

Fred answered with a will. His back was 
sore and his arms ached and his hands were 
blistered, but his spirit was light, for he felt 
that, at last, the worst of his troubles were 
over and, barring accidents, that he was about 
to land the great “ Desborough story ” for the 
Morning Call and claim the coveted position 
that would lead him to fame and fortune. He 
rowed evenly and slowly, but the strokes were 
218 


A light in the darkness 

strong and caught the water well, so that their 
progress was good, and when he looked over 
his shoulders he could plainly see the trees on 
the shore and the little white line made by the 
waves as they curled up and broke into ripples 
on the land. The moon had now come out 
bright and clear. The scudding clouds were 
only thin flakes that were not large enough nor 
heavy enough to obscure the light. It was an 
ideal night for a pleasure party in a rowboat, 
and it scarcely seemed possible that, so short 
a time ago, this very spot in the river had been 
a surging, tossing vortex that would have 
made their present position precarious. The 
storm had completely died down. Only the 
heavy heaving of the river, still restless after 
its terrible lashing, remained to remind them of 
what they had passed through. 

The three boys were silent as they gained 
their way shoreward foot by foot. Walter 
Desborough was the first to speak. 

“ Well,” he said with a deep sigh, “ I guess 
I ’ll have to admit for the time being that I ’m 
beaten. I ’d like you to give me a general idea 
of what you intend doing with me when you 
get me ashore.” 

Fred stopped rowing and his teeth clinked 
together with a grim snap. He was inclined 
21 9 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

to make an angry answer at first, but he 
thought better of it and said : 

“ I 'm going to manage somehow to get you 
to- the Morning Call office without any one 
knowing where or who you are. All I want is 
for you and Mr. Ball, the city editor, to be 
together long enough for him to ask you the 
questions he wants answered and then I don't 
care what you do or where you go — providing 
you and I settle our little question of supremacy 
before you disappear." 

“ I 'm perfectly willing to go with you 
quietly to the newspaper office," declared 
Walter. 

“ Thanks," drawled Fred sarcastically. 
“ That 's very nice of you, I 'm sure, especially 
as you are going whether you 're willing or 
not. It may be that I '11 find some way, after 
I get ashore, of bringing Mr. Ball down here 
on a tug. That will be the best way if I can 
reach a telegraph office and get into communi- 
cation with him. But I 'm afraid we 've struck 
a rather deserted part of the country and we 
will just keep sharp eyes on you until my part 
of the business is accomplished." 

Fred turned to his rowing again and Walter 
sat moodily in his seat, his hands still bound 
behind his back and tied securely to the thwart. 

220 


A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS 


Soon he felt the boat jar and heard her bow 
scrape the sand as Fred sent her straight 
inshore. 

The young reporter jumped out at once and 
pulled her securely up on the bank. Then he 
and Paddy released Walter from the thwart, 
though they did not unbind his hands. 

It was a blessed relief to be able to stretch 
their legs again after being so long cramped 
in the little boat. They walked up and down 
the smooth shore, Paddy and Fred talking in 
low tones and Walter walking silently between 
them. As Fred had said, the spot where they 
had landed seemed far from any human habi- 
tation. Not a house was in sight nor could 
they see any signs to indicate that men had 
ever been there. 

They were on a long strip of sandy shore, 
as smooth and level as any bathing beach at 
the sea coast. Twenty feet from the water 
line the wild forest sprang up thick and lux- 
uriant in its undergrowth, the great trees 
reaching out their limbs far over the river and 
shading the boys completely from the view of 
passing boats if they did not care to be seen. 
No better retreat could have been chosen if 
they had hunted along the shore for miles. 

“ It ’s a bit chilly, ” said Paddy finally. 

221 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ Suppose we make a fire and thaw out, and 
then we can decide what ’s best to be done 
next.” 

•He went to their boat and got the hatchet 
and was soon busy among the undergrowth, 
cutting kindling and throwing it into a heap 
in the middle of a clearing between two im- 
mense old trees. It was the work of only a 
few minutes to start a blaze, and the fire was 
soon roaring comfortably, with the three boys 
stretched out about it, gazing into its golden 
depths and each one busy with the thoughts 
of the dangers they had passed through and 
those that might be to come. Finally Fred 
rose and stretched himself. 

“ I ’in going to strike inland a bit and see if 
there ’s any sign of civilization about here,” 
he said. “ I guess you can take care of our 
prisoner, Paddy ? ” 

Paddy eyed Walter for a moment and then 
said: 

“ Young fellow, I imagine your wrists must 
be pretty sore being tied up so long. It seems 
a shame to make you suffer needlessly. Now, 
I believe you ’re honest. I never saw a brave 
man yet that was n’t, and you ’ve showed that 
you ’ve got plenty of spunk. If you ’ll promise 
not to make any attempt to escape while Fred ’s 
222 


A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS 


gone and not to give me any trouble of any 
kind, I ’ll take your handcuffs off and we can 
wait in some comfort while he ’s looking 
round.” 

Walter nodded gratefully to the Irish lad. 

“ I ’ll promise,” he said. “ I won’t give you 
the slightest trouble until your friend gets back. 
What I ’ll do after that will, of course, depend 
on circumstances.” 

“ That ’s perfectly satisfactory to me,” said 
Paddy. 

He rose and unbound the prisoner’s hands, 
and Walter held them out gratefully, stretch- 
ing his fingers and swinging his arms back and 
forth to get the sluggish blood in circulation 
again. Then he and Paddy sat down once 
more at the fire, and Fred, pushing the hilt 
of the hatchet through his belt, was ready to 
start. 

“I won’t be gone long,” he said. “You 
have plenty of wood to keep your fire going for 
an hour or more, so I ’ll take the hatchet. I 
may need it. Good-bye.” 

The young reporter struck off into the very 
heart of the dense forest, making directly in- 
shore at right angles to the course of the river. 
As he went he “ blazed ” the trees — that is, 
every time he changed his course from a 
223 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

straight line, he chopped off the bark, leaving 
the ‘white of the wood gleaming in the moon- 
light to mark the path he was taking so that 
he could follow it without trouble on his way 
back. The trees were massed in a wood that 
seemed endless in extent. For half an hour 
he kept on, stumbling and often falling over 
stumps or log's that the flickering moonlight 
did not reveal. All around him, the forest was 
loud with the insect life of the night, every leaf 
seeming to shelter some tiny mite whose call 
rang out clear and sharp in the silence. From 
time to time he heard a rustling in the under- 
brush, as though some animal, disturbed in 
its rest, were slinking away from him to a safe 
distance, and the boy grasped his hatchet firmly 
in his right hand, prepared for any emergency. 
He thought of bears and wolves and even of 
the giant pythons that, he had read, lay in 
wait for the unwary traveler, to dash down 
upon him from some overhanging bough or to 
strike with fatal fangs from the shelter of 
some low-lying bush. He knew that there were 
none of these wild beasts or serpents so near 
the city, but his nervousness increased at every 
sound of stirring leaves, and he was heartily 
glad when at last he came upon a clearing and 
stood in the full brilliancy of the unimpeded 
224 


A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS 


moonlight, with no shelter about him behind 
which an enemy could lurk. 

He glanced to the right and left in a vain 
search for some sign of man, but nothing met 
his eye but the trees that surrounded him and 
the long unkempt grass and weeds of the clear- 
ing in which he stood. But straight ahead, 
under the shadows of the overhanging boughs, 
he fancied that he saw a line of bare dirt in 
the moonlight and, with renewed hope, he 
struck out for it. As he neared it he found 
that he had not been mistaken. It was a road, 
evidently not much used, but still a road, and 
that meant that it led somewhere where men 
would be. He hesitated for a long time, un- 
decided as to which direction to take. 

“ I ’ll let the hatchet decide,” he muttered to 
himself. “ If it falls with the handle toward 
me, I ’ll go to the right. If it falls with the 
head toward me, I ’ll go to the left. Now 
for it.” 

He tossed the hatchet whirling into the air 
and watched it eagerly as it landed and 
bounded back almost at his feet. 

“ The right it is,” he announced. 

He chopped a small limb from a near-by 
bush and, skinning the bark from it so that 
it would shine white in the moonlight, he stuck 
225 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

it upright in the ground at the side of the road 
to mark the place where he had turned out of 
the clearing. Then with renewed hope he 
struck off southward into the unknown. 

Fifteen minutes later he paused, his eyes 
gleaming with triumph. There ahead of him, 
two hundred yards down the road and high in 
the air, were two lights, one red, the other 
green. 

“ Eureka ! ” cried the delighted boy. “ Those 
lights are railroad signals and they probably 
mean a station. And, if it *s a station, it means 
a telegraph instrument. Hurra-a-ah! I can 
catch Mr. Ball before he leaves the office and 
have him down here in a few hours. Fred 
Spencer, old chap, I guess you ’ve won out. 
Fred Spencer, Reporter. Gee, it ’ll be great.” 

And with a whoop of joy the lad dashed 
madly down the dusty road toward the glowing 
lights. 


226 


CHAPTER XXII 

THE BORROWED WIRE 

It was a little box of a place that greeted 
Fred when he reached the station. There was 
only a long platform and a low, one-storied 
wooden building containing the agent’s office 
and a diminutive waiting-room; but Fred was 
satisfied, for he saw that two wires ran from 
a telegraph pole near by to the roof of the struc- 
ture and that meant that there was a telegraph 
instrument inside. It was too dark for the 
boy to read the name painted on the sign above 
the door. There was not a light about the 
place save the two perched high on the signal 
post twenty feet or more down the platform. 
But Fred did not care much about lights. All 
he wanted was to get inside and place his 
fingers on the telegraph key in the office. 

He walked all around the little building 
twice, looking for some sign of an inhabitant. 
But the station was dark and still and de- 
serted. Fred was forced to the conclusion that 
227 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

it was one of those unimportant country places 
at which only a few local trains stop in the day- 
time and that, as usual with such places, it was 
locked up after the last train had gone and 
the agent went to his home for the night. The 
boy could see no sign of sleeping accommoda- 
tions anywhere about and repeated shouts 
failed to awake any response. 

Fred went up again on the platform and 
tried the door. It was securely locked. He 
shouted until he was hoarse, but received no 
reply. Again he tried the door, then the win- 
dows one after the other, then the door again 
and finally gave it up, sitting down on a bench 
to think the matter over and make up his mind 
what to do. 

The stillness around him was oppressive.; 
Here there was no merry chirping of forest 
insects to keep him company. An awful 
silence reigned everywhere, only now and then 
some old board in the flimsy building creaked 
as though it were tired of long service and 
were trying to turn over. Far off in the dis- 
tance, it sounded miles or more, came the faint 
baying of a dog, another answered, they be- 
spoke each other in brave but distant defiance 
several times and then even they once more 
subsided into the general stillness. Their 
228 


THE BORROWED WIRE 


silence made Fred feel more lonely and creepy 
than ever. He rose and began to pace up and 
down the platform, but his footsteps sounded 
so loud and hollow that they increased his ner- 
vousness and he sat down again. 

Suddenly the silence was broken from in- 
side the station itself. Fred leaped to his feet. 
It was a telegraph instrument. Some one was 
calling the main office in the city. The call 
sounded upon all instruments on the same wire. 
“ P — P — P — P — P — P ” it clattered, the 
five dots seeming to fall over one another in 
their haste to be heard. Fred, awakened to 
fresh energy and a stronger realization of the 
necessity for immediate action, sprang again 
at the door and shook it with all his might. 
It did not give an inch. 

If he could only get at that instrument. 
The people at the main office knew him; they 
would put him on a “ loop ” — that is, put a 
plug in their switchboard that would connect 
this little country line directly with the office 
of the Morning Call. He must get inside. 

Then he heard the main office answer, and his 
excitement grew almost unbearable as he heard 
the man who was calling ask to be put on a 
loop with “ V. G.” “ V. G.” was the Morning 
Call office. Whoever was working that wire 
229 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

would soon be talking directly into the room 
where Fred had worked day after day and 
where Mr. Ball was probably now standing, his 
night's labors almost over. Then the little in- 
strument in the station clicked, “ I — I — V. 
G. ” Some one in the Call office had answered. 
Away down here at the deserted country sta- 
tion, alone and helpless, fumed the boy who, 
could he but get at the key of the instrument 
inside, would send over the wire such a mes- 
sage as had not been received in the office in 
many a long day — a message that would have 
roused the most bored of the old reporters from 
their lethargy and would have sent Mr. Ball 
himself into a fever of excitement. 

Fred must get at that instrument while the 
loop was on. He heard the man at the other 
end begin a routine account of the damage 
done by the storm that night in the southern 
end of the state, and his impatience made him 
desperate. He would get at that wire even if 
he had to suffer imprisonment for it. 

He drew the hatchet from his belt and strode 
over to the window. It was protected by a 
heavy screen of metal that was bolted to the 
framework, but Fred was not dismayed. With 
all his strength, he brought the sharp edge 
down upon the wood. The splinters flew as 
230 


THE BORROWED WIRE 


he was spurred on by his frenzy of haste, and 
soon he had completely chopped the framework 
from around three of the bolts. Then, making 
a lever of his hatchet handle, he braced himself 
against the wall and pulled with all his might. 
He heard the bolts creak and groan, the wood 
cracked, and he felt the screen giving; he 
heaved with a final desperate effort and, with 
a great showering of splinters, he fell flat upon 
his back. 

But the screen was off. 

Fred sprang to his feet at once and sent his 
hatchet crashing through the glass. He 
worked like a demon, knocking away the rough 
edges, and soon the hole was big enough for 
him to crawl through. Guided by the sound 
of the ticking, he pushed his way through the 
darkness to a table and felt his hand close over 
the telegraph key just as the man on the lower 
end was signing his initials, ready to end his 
message and close the loop. Fred broke in 
upon him at once. 

“ K. Y. — K. Y.” he sounded. This was the 
personal signal of Kenny, the chief operator 
and the only man in the office except Mr. Ball 
who knew of Fred’s errand. 

The key was opened by the man at the other 
end, making it impossible for Fred to make 
231 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


another sound, but he knew that the man was 
calling Kenny and that he would soon get an 
answer. After what seemed ten minutes’ wait 
to his overwrought nerves, the reply came: 
“I — I — K. Y.” 

“ This is S. R.” ticked Fred, giving his own 
personal call, formed, as is usual, by the first 
and last letters of the operator’s name. 

“ Where under Heaven are you?” asked 
Kenny. 

“ Don’t know. Have n’t time to find out. 
Have landed Desborough story. Get Ball to 
wire quick.” 

Kenny opened his key, and Fred could pic- 
ture him leaping from his chair and rushing 
like a mad man the length of the room and 
bursting unceremoniously into the city editor’s 
private office. Fie knew that Mr. Ball would 
make one wild spring out of the door and down 
the room at Kenny’s heels. Soon the instru- 
ment began ticking again. 

“ Ball here. Rush story.” 

“ Can’t give story to-night — ” Fred began, 
but Kenny broke in upon him, 

“ Ball says must have it. Why not ? ” 

“ Have no details,” explained Fred. “ Young 
Desborough my prisoner on shore of river few 
miles below Red Shoals light. Uninhabited 
232 


THE BORROWED WIRE 


shore. Have broken into deserted station and 
borrowed this wire. No danger anybody find- 
ing us. If Ball conies down river and gets us 
can have whole story exclusive. Must rush.” 

“I — I,” came the answer. “ How can find 
you ? ” 

“ Get fast tug. Come down river to Red 
Shoals light. Then hug eastern shore and feel 
way down until I signal from shore. Put two 
red lights on port side instead of one, so I will 
know which tug. Will answer with light and 
shout.” 

“ I — L Will start at once. Anything 
more? ” 

“ Blake the criminal. He is now in city. 
Have him arrested on charge of assaulting me 
and hold till I get there. Rush.” 

“ I — I. Right away.” 

Fred closed his key, and his head sank upon 
his folded arms upon the table in front of him. 
Now that the strain was over, he realized for 
the first time how utterly worn out he was, 
both physically and mentally. Every muscle 
in his body was stiff and sore. His brain re- 
fused to work and he could only sit there, 
sobbing like a child as his overwrought nerves 
gave way. 

The deepest depression and melancholy came 
233 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

over the boy. He tried to tell himself that this 
was foolish, that he had now succeeded, that 
he had scored a triumph more complete and 
sensational than any he had ever pictured in 
his rosiest dreams of the future. But his tired 
mind refused this comfort. He was numbed 
and fatigued, and the thought of the long walk 
before him to rejoin Paddy and Walter over- 
whelmed him like an added misfortune, too 
great for his already sorely tried frame to 
endure. 

He thought he heard a shout outside, but 
he did not stir. What if they were coming 
after him to arrest him for breaking into the 
station? Let them come. He did not care. 
It would only be another trial and it would 
not matter much, for he would soon be dead, 
probably, and they would discover too late that 
they had killed him in the midst of a great and 
daring deed. Well, he would let them mourn 
him as they saw fit. It would make no differ- 
ence to him. He would be beyond the reach of 
such petty trifles and he would at last find rest 
— Rest — REST. 

This time he was sure he heard the shout 
outside the station. It was so near, so clear, 
and so unmistakable that it startled him from 
his lethargy. Some one was coming to make 
234 


THE BORROWED WIRE 


him prisoner. He would be held captive and 
Mr. Ball, on board the tug, would pass down 
the river, unable to get the looked-for signal 
from shore, unable to find Walter Desborough, 
unable to land the great Desborough beat that 
Fred had labored so hard to win. 

The lad sprang to his feet, nerved into in- 
stant action. He forgot that he was too tired 
for anything to matter, he forgot that he did 
not care what happened to him, he forgot that 
he was going to die. 

One leap carried him to the broken window 
through which he had entered. It was on the 
southern side of the bow in which the office 
was set. Fred glanced down the tracks, but 
could see nothing. He sprang to the opposite 
window, facing northward toward the road 
along which he had come from the forest. 
Again came the shout, and he saw a light bob- 
bing up and down and swinging around as a 
man ran swiftly toward the station. The lad 
leaped back to escape, but he crashed into an 
unseen chair and was sent sprawling on the 
floor. Stunned by the force of the fall, he sat 
a moment while his head seemed to whirl 
around and around. He blinked hard and 
fought to regain his scattered faculties. He 
staggered to his feet and groped to the win- 
235 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


dow, reeling like a drunken man. Again came 
the shout from outside, and he heard the clatter 
of footsteps on the platform. His pursuers 
were upon him. His chances were small 
indeed. 

With a last desperate effort, he climbed 
upon the window sill, squeezed his way 
through, got his footing upon the platform, 
and made a wild leap straight into the arms 
of the man with the lantern. 


236 


CHAPTER XXIII 

THE CHASE THROUGH THE DARKNESS 

It would be hard to tell which was the more 
surprised at the collision, Fred or the man 
with the lantern. The boy had given a power- 
ful leap as soon as he had gained a good 
footing and had landed hard with his head 
in the very pit of the man’s stomach. With 
a loud grunt as the wind was knocked out of 
his body the man went head over heels back- 
ward, Fred sprawling on top of him, and the 
lantern, its light still burning, was sent flying 
ten feet down the platform. 

Fred sprang to his feet as soon as he real- 
ized what had happened. He was surprised 
that the man did not grapple with him and 
hold him, but a swift glance showed him that 
his would-be captor was doubled up with his 
hands pressing his stomach, gasping hard for 
breath and writhing in the frenzy of suffo- 
cation. Fred did not wait to give assistance. 
He dashed headlong down the platform, in- 

237 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

stinctively leaning down and catching the lan- 
tern as he ran. He heard another shout com- 
ing from the road to the left and knew that 
his avenue of escape was cut off, so without 
hesitation he swerved to the right when he 
reached the end of the platform and ran as 
fast as his legs could carry him in the opposite 
direction to that from which he had come. 

He did not look back until he had put at 
least two hundred yards between him and his 
pursuer. Then a glance over his shoulder 
showed him that the second man, who also 
carried a lighted lantern, had gone to the 
assistance of the first. This gave Fred an 
excellent start, and he proceeded to take ad- 
vantage of it. He was glad now that he had 
been prevented from taking the road in the 
direction of the boat. Pursuit in that way 
would probably have uncovered the hiding 
place of the three boys on shore, and Fred's 
whole scheme would have been nipped in the 
bud, and Walter Desborough could have made 
charges against them that would have been 
impossible to disprove in time to catch Mr. 
Ball on the tug. As he was going, Fred could 
draw the pursuit away from their waiting 
place and he had little doubt that he would 
be able to double on his tracks when he had 
238 


CHASE THROUGH THE DARKNESS 


drawn the men far enough away, and make his 
own way easily back to Paddy and Walter. 

The lantern on the platform was now bob- 
bing up and down again, and Fred could see 
that the two men had started the chase. His 
own advantage was great enough, however, for 
him to consider himself safe, and he devoted 
all his attention to drawing the men as far as 
possible from the point where he had entered 
the road from the clearing. He held up his 
lantern so that it could easily be seen by the 
men. A shout of triumph came to him as they 
saw it and started at full run to overtake him. 
He stood his ground until they were only about 
a hundred yards away, meaning to spur them 
to renewed efforts by the constant hope of 
winning the race. Fred saw that they were 
both heavy, lumbering runners whose gait bore 
every evidence of hard farm work and would 
give him no trouble to keep well in advance. 

Closer and closer he allowed the men to 
come and then started at an easy trot, looking 
over his shoulder every now and then to make 
sure that he was holding the distance between 
them fairly constant. He felt sure that these 
farmers, unused to running, would be winded 
long before he was and would have to give up 
the chase. 


239 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Suddenly, however, a pistol shot rang out 
behind him and then another and another. 
Fred leaped high in the air and began dodging 
from side to side as he heard the bullets clip- 
ping with ominous hisses through the leaves 
of the trees at his right. 

“ Here, here,” he muttered, breaking into 
full speed, “ that ’s something I did n’t bargain 
for. I can beat them running, but I can’t beat 
their bullets. We ’ll have to stop this.” 

He slackened his pace a moment, raised the 
glass of the lantern and blew out the light. 

“ Now,” he said, “ we ’ll just get a bit far- 
ther ahead and then begin dodging.” 

For a hundred feet or more he ran like a 
deer. The road curved into a thick wood, an 
ideal place for Fred’s plan of escape. He 
glanced backward and saw that the men were, 
for the moment, out of sight around the bend. 
Then with a leap over the fence that bordered 
the road, he plunged into the thickets and be- 
gan worming his way as quietly as possible 
through the underbrush to the very heart of 
the wood. 

He stood still and listened as he heard the 
two men come crashing by along the road. He 
could see the light of the lantern flickering 
through the tree and he almost caught the loud 
240 


CHASE THROUGH THE DARKNESS 


panting of the runners as they struggled hard 
for breath. 

The man with the lantern suddenly stopped. 
Fred’s heart leaped into his mouth. 

“ I ’m clean tuckered out, Zeke,” said a gruff 
voice. “ I can’t run a durned step further. 
You go ahead an’ maybe you kin ketch him.” 

Zeke trotted down the road a few paces and 
stopped. He was silent for some time and 
then came back. 

“ Consarn ’im,” he said. “ He ain’t in sight. 
Must ’ve turned off ’n th’ road, I reckon. 
.Where d’ ye s’pose he ’s went? ” 

“ Turned off, has he?” asked the other. 
“ Well, ef he ’s turned off he ’s done it right 
about here.” 

“ What makes ye think so ? ” asked Zeke. 

“ ’Cause, ef he intended fer t’ turn off ’n th’ 
road he ’d do it soon ’s he got aroun’ thet ar 
bend. An’ besides, this here woods ’d be th’ 
best place fer ’im t’ hide in an’ kiver his tracks. 
Thet ’s about what he ’s did. Shall we take 
a look through th’ trees ? ” 

“ Wait a minit,” said Zeke. “ Ef he turned 
off here, we kin see his tracks. He ’d dig his 
heels in th’ road deeper when he turned an’ 
we kin easy see ’m. Let ’s look.” 

“ By gum, Zeke Parker,” exclaimed his com- 
241 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

panion in open admiration, “ you ’re a reg’lar 
one o’ them detekitives, ain’t ye ? I’d never 
thought uv thet. Let ’s have a look.” 

The lantern was lowered close to the ground 
and the men moved carefully and slowly for- 
ward, but Fred had no fears. They had 
already passed the point where he had turned 
and there was no chance of their finding him 
now except through some freak of fortune. 
He crept closer to the road as they moved far- 
ther away, he hugged the fence and, crouch- 
ing almost on all fours, wormed away from 
them toward the road over which they had 
come. In a few minutes he stood erect and, 
with a leap, was on the road and speeding fon 
dear life toward the station again. He had 
not made a sound, and the men continued to 
hunt for his tracks, blissfully unconscious of 
the fact that their quarry had made good his 
escape. 

Fred sped like a deer down the road. The 
station was soon in sight and he was almost 
upon the railroad tracks when three men sud- 
denly sprang from the platform and made for 
him at a run. 

Fred stopped short and, with a flash of 
inspiration, pointed up the road to the wood 
from which he had just escaped. 

242 


CHASE THROUGH THE DARKNESS 

“ Zeke Parker ’s got him. Zeke ’s got him/’ 
he shouted. “ He wants help. Hurry up. 
He ’s there in the woods beyond the turn an’ 
th’ feller ’s a-fightin’ like a wild man. Hurry 
up. I ’m goin’ fer pop.” 

In the darkness no one could see the boy’s 
face, and the familiar mention of Zeke Parker’s 
name and the promise of excitement and a 
capture disarmed any suspicions they might 
have had. Up the road they sped, leaving Fred 
triumphant and alone, with a clear track ahead 
of him and a good start on any possible pur- 
suers. The lad’s first impulse was to leave the 
road entirely and make a slower but less con- 
spicuous progress through the trees that lay 
to the left. Then he remembered the tell-tale 
white stick that he had freshly peeled and 
stuck in the ground at the roadside to mark the 
place where he was to turn off into the clear- 
ing. If the men came after him, they could 
not possibly miss such a gleaming signal, 
and its meaning would be all too obvious. 
He must stick to the road and remove that 
marker. 

He glanced behind him and saw that all was 
clear. Falling into an easy lope that he could 
keep up almost indefinitely, he mounted the 
rise of the road and ran on easily, keeping a 

243 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


sharp lookout to the left edge so as to run no 
chance of missing the stick. 

It had grown into a glorious moonlit night. 
Every detail of the landscape stood out in bold 
relief almost as though it were day, and Fred 
had no difficulty in choosing the smooth places 
on the road. For perhaps ten minutes he ran 
on and then stopped short in confusion, as he 
saw another road crossing his path at right 
angles. 

Something surely must be wrong. He had 
passed no such road before. He cut into the 
field at the left and mounted a high knoll to 
take a look about him and determine his 
position. There could be no doubt of it. He 
had missed the stick and had run beyond it for 
half a mile or perhaps more. 

There was nothing for it then but to re- 
trace his steps. He felt that every minute was 
precious now. Ball would lose no time in pro- 
curing the fastest tug on the river and coming 
full speed to his assistance, and he must be on 
the spot to give the signal when the boat with 
the two red lights to port should come into 
sight of the fire on the bank where he had left * 
Paddy and Walter. He still ran fast, but he 
kept closer to the west side of the road this 
time so as to make it practically impossible 
244 


CHASE THROUGH THE DARKNESS 


for him to miss the stick which should show 
him his way. In five minutes he thought he 
recognized the lay of the land toward the river. 
Still he did not want to take chances of missing 
his blazed trail, so he jumped into the ditch 
that ran along the edge of the road and walked 
slowly, scanning eyery stick that showed in 
the moonlight, determined to find his marker 
this time. 

Suddenly the sound of loud voices came to 
him through the still night. He rose stealthily 
and listened. Again the sound came to him, 
clearly and unmistakably nearer, too, than was 
altogether comfortable. The boy crawled on 
hands and knees behind a clump of bushes, 
from which he could command a view of the 
road. The sound guided his eyes down the 
long stretch of level dirt toward the station, and 
he saw a sight that made him mutter an ex- 
clamation of dismay under his breath. 

The figures of five men stood out in strong 
relief against the light road. They were com- 
ing toward him and talking loudly as they 
came. 

“ It was a right smart trick, right enough,” 
said one. “ But derned ef I kin make out what 
th' man wanted bustin' into th’ station an' not 
takin' nothin' away.” 


245 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ Guess he did n’t hev no time/’ suggested 
another. “ We cum on ’im mighty quick as 
soon ’s we hearn th’ noise, an’ he butted right 
out th’ winder same ’s a nanny goat with his 
head down an’ his horns, like, planted square 
in Uncle John’s stummick. Oh, he ’d ’a’ stole 
sumpin right enough ef we had n’t got there 
so soon.” 

“ Well,” said a third, “ all ’s I got t’ say is 
he kain’t be so very fur away, an’ I think it ’s 
plumb foolish t’ go home now an’ give up 
when he may be a-layin’ right up there yonder 
behind them ar bushes.” 

Fred’s heart seemed to jump into his throat 
and choke him. He was in a pretty predica- 
ment now, surely. He looked about him for 
a chance to escape, but the land around was 
bare in the bright moonlight and not even a 
mouse could have crossed it without being 
plainly seen. A few rods away, however, there 
was a rise beyond which was a shallow gully, 
probably the bed of some dried-up creek. Fred 
made up his mind to reach this before it was 
too late. 

The men were still some distance down the 
road and the ditch at the side of the lane was 
in the shadow. The lad lay flat upon his 
stomach and began to wriggle, snake fashion, 
246 


CHASE THROUGH THE DARKNESS 


from under the bushes into the ditch and, with 
better safety here, upon his hands and knees 
more rapidly down the ditch, up the rise of 
ground until the brow of the hillock hid him 
from the approaching farmers. From here it 
was easier work. He could rise to his feet 
and, though he had to keep stooped to take 
advantage of the secrecy given him by the hill, 
he could make a fairly rapid trot that soon put 
a hundred yards between him and the road and 
brought him into the friendly shelter of an- 
other clump of bushes. He stopped to listen 
again. The voices came to him even more dis- 
tinctly than ever, and soon he saw the heads 
of the men come bobbing over the hill and then 
their bodies came into full view. 

"If they keep on up the road,” thought the 
boy, “ I ’m all right, for they will be out of 
sight soon and I can go back.” 

But at the very highest point, directly in 
front of him, they stopped. 

“ I tell yer,” one was arguing, “ it ’s plum 
foolish t’ let him git away now. Look-a-here. 
This stick *s been skinned within an hour.” 

Fred started and almost broke cover to make 
a wild run for liberty. They had found the 
tell-tale marker. 

“ And,” continued the speaker, “ it was 
247 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

planted that-a-way alongside tlT road for some 
reason an’ that reason was to show him where 
he was t' turn off. What other reason could 
there be? " 

“ Well/' said another, “ how do you know 
he did n't turn off an’ has n't got a mile away 
by this time ? " 

“ Becuz," argued the other doggedly, “ he 's 
showed hisself a purty shrewd chap, an’ ef he 's 
as shrewd as I think, he 'd know enough t’ pull 
th' stick up after he cut off th’ road where it 
marked th’ place fer him. No, sir. I don't 
know what 's happened to him, but I bet he 
missed th’ stick somehow or he ain't been able 
t' git here yit fer some reason. Anyways you 
kin bet he '11 be joggin' along here before long 
lookin' fer his marker an’ I vote we go back, 
put th' stick where it wuz and lie in th' bushes 
an' wait fer him." 

There was a long argument at this, but the 
shrewd farmer had his way at last, and the 
men retraced their steps, passing out of sight 
under the edge of the rise in the road. 

Fred breathed more easily when they had 
gone. He was still in a position far from com- 
fortable, but at least the fear of instant capture 
was no longer over him and he had but to make 
the best of his way to the river front, then 
248 


CHASE THROUGH THE DARKNESS 


along the shore until he came to their fire and 
all would yet be well. 

He struck out straight across the fields 
toward the west, but the trees became thicker 
as he went farther toward the river, and he 
determined to swerve to the north, hoping to 
strike the cross-road that had first told him 
he had passed his stick. Soon he reached it — 
a narrow, twisting country lane that was evi- 
dently seldom used, but at least it avoided the 
thick forests and was cut through places that 
would otherwise have been impassable, and he 
took little note of his exact direction, satisfied 
with an easy path to the river and the certainty 
that he could find his fire, once the water was 
in sight. 

The lad had not been running more than ten 
minutes when an exclamation of satisfaction 
burst from his dry lips. 'There, toward the 
northwest, lay the river, gleaming like silver 
in the moonlight. 

He quickened his pace, and as he rounded a 
turn in the road he saw, only a few paces before 
him, a square, substantial-looking farmhouse, 
dark and shut up tight for the night and with- 
out a sign of life about it. Fred swerved in a 
wide curve around it, not wishing to run the 
chance of waking any one by his footsteps. He 
249 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

had passed and was congratulating himself upon 
his luck, when from behind the house there was 
a loud growling and roaring, the silence of the 
night was broken by the deep barking of dogs, 
and almost before Fred had time to think two 
immense Great Danes, their eyes gleaming and 
their red tongues lapping over wicked fangs, 
came sweeping around the corner of the house 
and made straight for him. The boy had only 
time to leap for a branch above his head. As 
he pulled himself up, one of the ugly beasts 
made a savage spring for him and fastened its 
teeth in the edge of the boy’s trousers. The 
cloth parted and the dog dropped foaming to 
the ground, and there the two animals leaped 
and growled and snarled while Fred sat upon 
his branch, too frightened to think and utterly 
helpless to do anything, even had his thoughts 
come freely. 

It was a bitter trap to fall into, just as the 
success of all his plans seemed assured and as 
freedom lay almost within his grasp. 


250 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE TWO LIGHTS PASS 

Fred’s perch on the low limb of the tree kept 
him safely out of the way of the gleaming teeth 
of the two great dogs as they leaped at him 
and snapped and snarled in their vain rage. 
But it also made it impossible for him to escape, 
and he knew that every minute now was pre- 
cious, for Mr. Ball’s tug was likely to come 
down the river at almost any moment and 
Paddy would not know of the signals agreed 
upon. 

Five precious minutes flew by. Then Fred 
heard a window open and saw a dull gleam of 
light surrounding a head as some one looked 
down upon the scene from the second story of 
the house. 

“ Who ’s there ? ” called a gruff voice. 

“ Call off your dogs,” shouted Fred. 

“ Where are ye?” asked the man in the 
house. 

“ I ’m in the tree and your dogs won’t let me 
251 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

down/' said the boy. “ Just call them off, will 
you, and keep them off until I go on my way ? ” 

“ Hum-m-m,” murmured the farmer. 
“ Seem ’s ter me yer way ’s a mighty perculiar 
one t ’ take yer inter private property what ’s 
a half-mile away from th’ highway. What ye 
doin’ on my land, anyway? ” 

The man’s tone was angry, and Fred knew 
at once that he had trouble on his hands. 

“ I lost my way in the darkness,” he said. 
“ I have a boat a short distance below on the 
shore. I went inland to get at a telegraph 
station to send an important message to the city 
and I lost my way coming back. If you ’ll just 
call off these big brutes of yours, I ’ll go on to 
my boat and not trouble your sleep any 
further.” 

“ Hum-m-m. Thet there yarn ’s purty 
smooth, but I guess it ’ll bear some little in- 
vestigatin’. How many of my chickens did ye 
git this time, eh ? ” 

“ Chickens!” exclaimed Fred indignantly, 
“ surely you do not take me for a chicken 
thief? ” 

“ I ’ll take ye fer whatever ye are as soon ’s 
I kin git down t’ ye,” muttered the man. 
“ Meanwhile ye kin stay where ye are with th’ 
dogs t’ watch ye. If so be yer th’ feller as has 
252 


THE TWO LIGHTS PASS 


been makin’ free with my hencoops lately, I ’ll 
tan th’ hide off ’n yer back, by heck.” 

The man drew his head in the window and 
the sash was slammed down with a savage 
bang. 

“ This is awkward,” muttered Fred. “ I 
hope he will listen to reason and let me go. 
I have n’t much time to spare now.” 

He glanced toward the river. From his 
high perch in the tree he could see clearly up 
and down for miles, but there was not a sign 
of a boat of any kind in sight. Far away, on 
the western shore, he saw the flashing of a 
light, one flash every three seconds, and he 
knew it must be the Red Shoals. He was, 
therefore, some distance above where Paddy 
and Walter were waiting for him, but close 
enough to reach the spot in ten or fifteen min- 
utes’ rapid walking. He still had time if he 
could settle this unfortunate affair with the 
farmer. 

He glanced down at the two dripping brutes 
who now sat moaning and whining directly 
under him, their noses sniffing up at him hun- 
grily from time to time and their little eyes 
darting green fire at him in the moonlight. 
There was no hope of mercy from them. They 
were well trained for their work, and the won- 
253 


FRED, SPENCER; REPORTER 

der was that any one would venture near them 
to steal a few chickens. 

To Fred it seemed an almost endless time 
before he saw the door of the house open and 
the farmer come out. He was followed by a 
boy about Fred’s own size. The boy carried 
a lantern, and Fred grunted in disgust as he 
saw that the farmer carried a shotgun slung 
in the hollow of his left elbow. 

The dogs began their din anew as they saw 
their master coming to them. They leaped 
and barked, first running to him and then dash- 
ing back to the tree to make a savage spring 
into the air in a vain attempt to drag their 
quarry down. 

“ Jest set th’ lantern down there, John,” said 
the farmer to his son. “ We ’ll have a look at 
this feller an’ then we kin decide whether t’ 
tan his hide ourselves or take him t’ th’ con- 
stable.” 

The lad placed the lantern on the ground 
at his feet, and the farmer, still holding his 
gun in the hollow of his left elbow, looked 
up at Fred as though debating whether to 
have him come down immediately or to 
keep him safe up in the branches of the 
tree. Apparently he decided upon the latter 
course. 


254 


THE TWO LIGHTS PASS 


“ Now, then, young feller,” he said, “ jest 
throw down th’ chickens ye got to-night.” 

“ I *m not a chicken thief,” said Fred an- 
grily. “ I told you how I came to be here and 
if you will walk with me to where I left my 
boat, you will find that my story is true.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said the farmer craftily, “ an’ 
run plumb inter th’ gang of pals ye left there 
t’ wait fer ye, heh? Not much. I ’m a leetle 
too wise fer thet.” 

“ But I can prove to you who I am — ” be- 
gan Fred, when he suddenly remembered that 
he had left his own coat in the river and that 
he did not have even a scrap of paper in his 
possession to testify to his identity. 

“ How kin ye do thet?” asked the farmer. 

“ I was wrong,” stammered the boy. “ I 
forgot that I left all my papers in my other 
coat pocket.” 

"Yes? ” The farmer’s tone showed that he 
did not believe a word Fred was saying to him. 
"An’ where might it be ye left yer other 
coat, eh ? ” 

“ Why — why — ” began Fred. 

“ No, no, sonny,” the man interrupted. 
"Ye ’re lyin’ an’ ye know it. It don’t go down. 
You jest confess where ye hid my chickens an’ 
what ye ’ve done with them ye ’ve stole before 
255 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

an’ then maybe we kin talk more ca’m an’ 
peaceable.” 

“ Oh, drop that chicken-thief business,” 
shouted Fred angrily. 

“ Drop it, eh ? ” cried the farmer, now as 
angry as Fred. “ I ’ll probably drop you afore 
I ’ve done with ye, ye thievin’ rascal.” 

He turned to his son and commanded: 

“ You go an’ hitch up th’ mare t’ th’ station 
wagon. When ye ’re ready, jest shout fer me. 
I ’m a-goin’ t’ take this here smart aleck t’ th’ 
constable. I ’ll show ’em it ain’t safe fer t’ 
steal no chickens off ’n me, by heck.” 

The boy picked up his lantern and disap- 
peared among the trees to the north. 

“ Now, young feller,” resumed the farmer, 
turning again to Fred, “ we ’ll jest take a leetle 
drive over t’ th’ constable an’ ye kin tell yer. 
fancy fairy stories t’ him. I ’ve caught ye 
red-handed, as th’ sayin’ is, an’ I guess ye 
won’t be sendin’ no fancy telegrafts fer quite 
a spell t’ cum.” 

Fred saw that all his plans were doomed 
to failure unless he could argue this hard- 
headed farmer into delay. 

“ Look here,” he said, “ I ’m expecting a tug 
down here almost any minute from the city. 
The man who is bringing her down is Mr. Ball, 
256 


THE TWO LIGHTS PASS 


the city editor of the Morning Call , an3 both he 
and the captain of the boat will know all about 
me. It is very important that I be on shore to 
signal to them where to land, and if you will 
only wait until they come and turn me over to 
them, they will not only guarantee my honesty 
but will make it well worth your while finan- 
cially. What do you say? Will you do it?” 

The farmer seemed to hesitate and Fred’s 
heart leaped high with hope. 

“ What ’s this here city editor feller got t’ 
do with you ? ” asked the man suspiciously. 

“ I ’m one of his reporters,” answered the 
lad. “ I ’m down here on a very important 
story. That ’s why I had to hunt for a tele- 
graph office. I wired to Mr. Ball to tell him 
where I am and to ask him to bring a tug down 
to take me back to the city with a prisoner I 
left under guard where I landed about a mile 
or two down the shore. I only ask you to wait 
a little while and, when the tug comes, you can 
let me give them the signal, then lock me up in 
your house and see Mr. Ball yourself. That ’s 
all I ask.” 

For several minutes the farmer pondered 
over this proposition. He had evidently been 
. impressed with the earnestness of the boy’s tone 
and the reasonableness of his story. 

257 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

- “ Wall,” he said finally but still undecidedly, 

“ you jest stay where ye be until John gits tlT 
mare hitched up an’ then maybe we kin talk it 
over. Ye say this here editor feller ’ll make it 
worth my while financially ? ” 

“ Yes, I 'm sure he will.” 

“ Will he pay fer all th' chickens ye 've bin 
stealin' fer th' past week an' more ? ” 

“ I tell you again I have n't stolen any 
chickens. But he 'll pay you more than the 
value of any chickens you may have lost 
through the stealing of others.” 

“ Wall, thet sounds reasonable.” 

“ Hey, John Hollins, are ye thar? ” called a 
loud voice from the bend in the lane. 

“ Yes,” answered the farmer. “ Who 's 
thet? ” 

“ This here 's Zeke Parker. Bin chasin' a 
thief whut broke inter th' station an’ give us all 
th' slip. Seen anything of any one suspicious 
hereabouts ? ” 

Fred uttered an exclamation of dismay. 
The farmer heard him and grunted angrily. 

“ So,” he roared, “ thet 's th' way of it, is it? 
I 've got yer game treed right here in front of 
me, by heck. You come over here, Zeke 
Parker, an' help me git 'im.” 

The big, lumbering figure of the man Fred 
258 


THE TWO LIGHTS PASS 


had tricked came slouching around the house, 
and Zeke joined Farmer Hollins under the tree. 

“ So, thet ’s yer purty story about yer editor 
feller, is it ? ” shouted Hollins, shaking his fist 
angrily at the helpless boy above him. 
“ What ’s he bin a-doin’, Zeke ? ” 

“ Smashed th’ winder uv th’ station an’ 
raised Cain gineral. Stole a lantern off ’n Jim 
Billings an’ got th’ whole country raisen out ’n 
their beds t’ hunt fer him.” 

Farmer Hollins raised his gun to his shoul- 
der and aimed it straight at his captive. 

“ Now, young feller,” he shouted, “ you 
come right down out ’n thet tree an’ let ’s hev 
a look at ye.” 

Fred turned despairing eyes toward the 
broad expanse of river, and what he saw made 
him almost lose his seat upon the branch and 
topple helpless to the ground. 

Close inshore, feeling her way carefully 
down along the bank of the river, came a tug- 
boat. On her port side she carried two red 
lights. It was Mr. Ball looking for Fred’s 
signal. He was passing. Fred was too late. 

“ Quick,” shouted the despairing boy, 
“ there ’s the tug I told you about. Signal to 
her, quick.” 

He sprang to the ground and made a wild 
259 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Sash toward the shore, but instantly the farmer 
and Zeke Parker had him flat on the ground 
and were sitting astride him, while the two 
Great Danes leaped about and champed their 
white fangs over their lolling tongues. 

“ Now, you get up an' don’t try no more 
monkey shines,” commanded Farmer Hollins. 
“ We don’t want no more tales about no fancy 
boats, neither. They don’t go down.” 

“ But,” cried Fred desperately, “ there ’s my 
tug, looking for me. Won’t you take me to 
her and let them explain ? ” 

“ Where ’s a tug? ” asked Zeke Parker. 

“ Right there,” said Fred, pointing toward 
the spot where he had seen the boat. 

“ I don’t see none,” said Farmer Hollins. 

It was true. The tug was not in sight. 
Close inshore as she was, she was easily seen 
from the high perch among the tree branches, 
but the brow of the bank hid her from the sight 
of those standing on the ground. 

“ She ’s there, close inshore,” protested the 
lad. “ If you ’ll get up into the tree, you can 
see her plainly.” 

“ Not much,” said the farmer. “ You want 
one of us t’ git up in them branches so ’s you 
kin git a chanst t’ break away. Thet don’t 
go. Besides, no tug on any honest errand 
260 


THE TWO LIGHTS PASS 


would be so close inshore. She ’d be out in 
th’ channel where she belongs. No, young 
feller, it won’t do. You jest come along 
with us.” 

Farmer Hollins grasped the boy roughly by 
the left arm, and Zeke Parker took him by the 
right. Without ceremony they marched him 
through the trees in the direction the farmer’s 
son had taken and, on the other side of the 
clump, they came upon the barn, with the horse 
and wagon almost ready to start. 

“ You set in th’ front seat beside John,” 
commanded the farmer. “ Zeke an’ me ’ll set 
back here where we kin keep an eye on ye. 
Now, then, John, git t’ movin’.” 

John climbed into the seat beside Fred and 
took the reins into his hands. 

“ Want t’ go straight t’ th’ constable’s, Pap? 
All right. Giddap.” 

And as they started, Fred heard three short 
sharp toots from the tug that was looking for 
him down the river he was leaving rapidly 
behind. 


CHAPTER XXV 


A FORTUNATE FALL 

“ Seems ter me,” said Farmer Hollins, 
“ ye ’re some young t’ be startin’ a career of 
crime like this ’ere. Why don’t ye git religion 
an’ mend yer evil ways?” 

“ He ’ll hev plenty of time fer thet now,” 
suggested Zeke Parker. “ What with yer 
chickens gone an’ th’ station busted inter th’ 
way it was, it don’t seem likely th’ constable ’ll 
give him much chanst ter git back t’ his evil 
ways. It ’s a shame, too, a young boy like 
him.” 

“ An’ mind him tryin’ t’ lie right up t’ th’ 
last minit. Talkin’ about a tug on th’ river 
when we cud see as plain as day they war n’t 
no tug there. Young feller, I ’m afraid yer 
bound fer th’ gallers onless ye git religion an’ 
mend yer ways.” 

Fred was too angry and disappointed to 
make answer. Hope had entirely left him. 
His great enterprise, almost carried to a tri- 
262 


A FORTUNATE FALL 


umphant success, was now a pitiful failure and 
he himself was being carried away to be put 
behind bars until he could prove that he was 
not a malefactor. He knew that no excuses 
availed a reporter who failed on a story as 
big as this one. In the newspaper world, all 
that counted was success; failure, no matter 
how brought about, was professional death to 
the man entrusted with the task. And Fred 
had failed miserably. 

“ What did ye want t’ break inter tlT station 
fer, anyway? ” asked Zeke. “ Ye did n’t steal 
nothin’. Did we ketch ye too quick? ” 

“ I ’ve already told Mr. Hollins that I wanted 
to send an important telegram,” said Fred. 
“ There was no operator there and I had to 
get to the wire before my people had gone for 
the night.” 

“What good did it do ye t’ git in if there 
war n’t no operator there? ” asked the farmer. 

“ I sent the dispatch myself,” said the 
boy. 

Zeke and Mr. Hollins both laughed in- 
credulously. 

“ I suppose,” said the latter in a bantering 
tone, “ thet ye want us t’ believe thet a young 
feller like you kin work one of them things 
they telegraph with.” 

263 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ I can work one,” maintained Fred stoutly. 
“ That ’s how I make my living.” 

“ That an’ chicken stealin’,” put in Hollins. 

“ Why,” said Zeke, “ what ’s th’ use of tellin’ 
us a yarn like that? It takes people years t’ 
learn t’ telegraph an’ years more t’ be able t’ 
make a livin’ at it.” 

“All right,” said Fred doggedly, “have it 
your own way. But, if you want to prove it, 
just take me to the station and let your operator 
there test me.” 

“ By gum, thet sounds reasonable,” said 
Zeke. “ Anyway, we want t’ go past thet way. 
Some of th’ fellers is still waitin’ fer ye where 
ye left thet skinned stick stickin’ up by th’ road- 
side. We ’ll want t’ stop an’ tell ’em we ’ve got 
ye. Let ’s test him an’ see how much he really 
does know, hey, Hollins ? ” 

“ I ’m agreeable,” assented the farmer. 
“ Only let ’s hurry. Touch th’ mare a bit, 
John.” 

The lad in the seat beside Fred took the 
whip from the socket at the right and cut the 
mare smartly across the back with the lash. 
The result was unexpected. The sleepy beast, 
more frightened than hurt, gave a wild lurch 
ahead, then swerved to one side, almost over- 
turning in the ditch at the edge of the road, 
264 


A FORTUNATE FALL 


and then dashed madly off the road and straight 
across the rough, open field. 

“ Whoa, consarn ye! ” shouted Farmer Hol- 
lins and John and Zeke in chorus. 

“ Pull ’er up, John. You ’ll have all our 
necks broken,” gasped the farmer, as he 
swayed from side to side with every lurch of 
the wagon. 

John sawed bravely at the bit, but the mare 
was more than ever frightened by the shout- 
ing that had greeted her burst of speed and 
was now running away in real earnest. A 
catastrophe was inevitable, for the clear space 
was only a few hundred feet wide and the 
woods were thick all around it. If the mare 
made a dash between the trees, the wagon 
would be shattered to splinters and there was 
grave danger that all its occupants would be 
badly hurt. But the mare herself saved 
them. 

The ground over which they were flying was 
soft and full of ruts and rabbit burrows. Into 
one of these the beast planted her forefeet and, 
not being able to pull them out in time, she 
went down head first, the wagon almost turned 
a somersault over her, the shafts snapped off 
close to the axle, and four dilapidated figures 
slowly picked themselves out of the mud, felt 
265 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

of themselves to make sure that no bones were 
broken and then gathered about their shattered 
vehicle to see what repairs they could make. 
But the outlook was not encouraging. 

“ Consarn yer buttons, ye clumsy galoot,” 
shouted the farmer, shaking his fist in his son’s 
face. “ Ain’t I learned ye t’ drive better ’n 
thet?” 

“ I could n’t help it,” said the boy sullenly. 

“ Lend a hand here,” said the farmer, going 
to the head of the prostrate mare. “ Let ’s git 
th’ beast up on her feet an’ then we kin see 
about th’ wagon.” 

But it was not the easiest task in the world. 
Two or three times they had her almost on her 
feet, only to see her sink again to the ground 
with something like a sigh of pain, and it was 
soon evident that her forelegs had been badly 
hurt in the fall. 

Finally, however, by the combined efforts of 
all four of them, the mare was induced to stand 
and the farmer began to lead her, limping 
badly, about in a small circle, watching her 
legs anxiously to see where the hurt was. 

“ Guess she ’s out o’ commission fer th’ 
night, anyway,” said Zeke. 

“ Worse nor that, I ’m thinking” said the 
farmer. “ Looks t’ me like she ’s hurt purty 
266 


A FORTUNATE FALL 


bad. L'ook-a-here, Zeke. Feel if this leg’s 
clean broke.” 

Zeke and Farmer Hollins leaned over the 
forelegs of the mare, rubbing them carefully 
and examining every inch of their surface for 
bumps and bruises. John stood near by, watch- 
ing them anxiously. No one was paying the 
slightest attention to Fred. 

The young reporter glanced about him 
quickly. Not two feet away lay the farmer’s 
gun on the ground where it had fallen when 
they had all been thrown from the wagon. 
Behind him lay the house and beyond that the 
fire where he had left Paddy and Walter and 
from which Mr. Ball’s tug might even yet be 
in sight. There might be time, with quick 
action, to turn his bitter defeat into victory. 

With one jump Fred had picked up the gun. 
Without so much as looking behind him, he 
faced toward the farmhouse and ran with all 
his speed over the field. 

He heard John shout a warning behind him, 
the farmer’s deep voice roared an answer and 
Zeke joined in the confusion. But Fred kept 
his eyes in front, carefully watching the soft 
ground for pitfalls into which he might stum- 
ble and leaping the gullies like a deer. 

But he heard footsteps gaining on him 
267 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

rapidly. Soon they were almost at his ears 
and he heard the deep, quick breathing of his 
pursuer. 

“ Might ’s well give up,” Zeke Parker’s 
voice said. “ I ’ve got ye.” 

Fred leaped to the left, jumped across a hole 
in the ground and sped on. He heard a crash 
behind him, a startled oath, and, glancing over 
his shoulder, he saw that Zeke had stumbled 
fairly into the hole and was scrambling to his 
feet. But Fred did not pause. His backward 
glance had also showed him that the farmer 
and John were close upon him and that John 
was running diagonally across his tracks to 
cut him off from the clear space that led to the 
house and the woods beyond, where Fred had 
hoped to find shelter. Then, as the boy felt 
the weight of the gun in his hand, he determined 
on a desperate chance. 

He stopped short in his tracks. Swinging 
the gun to his shoulder, he aimed it straight 
at the farmer’s son. 

“ Stop where you are,” he commanded. 

John stopped. Then Fred swung around 
and confronted the farmer. 

“ Halt,” he cried. “ Halt or I ’ll shoot you 
down in your tracks.” 

The farmer stopped and tried to dodge at 
268 


A FORTUNATE FALL 


the same time, but the result was disastrous to 
his dignity. His feet slipped from under him 
on the soft earth and he sprawled flat on his 
back, his legs and arms waving wildly in the 
air above him. He rose slowly to his feet just 
as Zeke Parker came to a halt beside him. 

“ Now, then,” commanded Fred, “ all three 
of you march right back to where you came 
from. Hurry, now. I ’m not going to stand 
any trifling.” 

With rueful faces, the three who, a few mo- 
ments before, had been his captors, backed 
slowly away from him, then turned and fled 
in fright from before the menacing muzzle of 
the shotgun. As they reached the mare, they 
took refuge behind her and from this post of 
vantage hurled all sorts of abusive epithets at 
the lad who had so cleverly turned the tables 
upon them. 

But Fred did not wait to argue. He turned 
on his heel and ran rapidly toward the house 
again, facing behind only once to point his 
gun at the three and drive them back to the 
shelter of the injured mare. 

As he neared the farmhouse, Fred suddenly 
remembered the two Great Danes and their 
wicked fangs. 

“ I don’t want to meet those beauties again,” 
269 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

he thought. “ I ’ll cut across here and into the 
woods. It won’t make much difference any- 
way.” 

He swerved to the left and had almost 
reached the shelter of the trees when he heard 
the sound that he feared. With savage growls 
and whimpering barks, the two big beasts 
swept around from behind the house, stood for 
a moment to locate the noise that had attracted 
their attention, and, as they saw Fred, lowered 
their heads and with a yelp of savage triumph 
dashed after him. 

“ I hate to do it,” muttered the fugitive as 
he faced about and brought his gun to his 
shoulder. “ I won’t kill them. I ’ll just sting 
them a bit and see if I can’t frighten them off.” 

He pressed the trigger and was almost 
thrown over by the force of the recoil. But 
he had accomplished his purpose. The shot 
had struck the ground a yard or less in front 
of the dogs, some of it had bounded up and 
struck them, and the rest had thrown a shower 
of stinging dirt straight into their faces. Both 
beasts gave yelps of pain and surprise and 
stopped short on their haunches. Instantly 
Fred took to his heels again and plunged into 
the wood, making as straight as he could for 
the spot where he judged Paddy’s fire to be, 
270 


A FORTUNATE FALL 


feeling reasonably sure now that he was safe 
from pursuit and that he had nothing to con- 
tend with but the uncertainty of his way and 
the chance that the tug had passed and would 
not again return. 

The gray light of approaching day made it 
fairly easy to run among the trees. The under- 
growth was not thick, and Fred had little diffi- 
culty in finding paths. But, as he pushed for- 
ward, he noticed that all of these paths gradu- 
ally swerved to the left, taking him slowly but 
surely away from the river. This did not 
deter him, however. If the worst came to the 
worst, he could go to the eastern edge of the 
wood, locate the men who were waiting to 
capture him where he had left the skinned 
stick, and from there easily find his way over 
his blazed trail to the fire. 

He kept at a steady easy jog trot, stopping 
once or twice to listen, for he fancied he heard 
sounds behind him. He could see nothing 
definite, however. Gradually he became more 
and more convinced that something or some- 
body was following him. He stopped and hid 
behind the trunk of a great tree. With his 
ears strained to catch the faintest sound, he 
waited and soon was rewarded. He heard a 
sniff and a low growl. Then a black nose came 
271 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

poking out of the bushes he had just come 
through, and the head of one of the farmer’s 
dogs came into sight. 

“ I ’ve got to settle this fellow,” the boy 
muttered. 

He stepped from behind his tree and aimed 
straight for the great brute’s heart. 

“ Get out of this,” he commanded. “ Go 
home.” 

The dog started and stopped short. He gave 
one look into the muzzle of the gun and then 
slunk back into the bushes. He had had one 
taste of the effects of the weapon and he evi- 
dently did not want another. 

Fred smiled as he lowered the barrel. 

“ I ’m mighty glad you take it so reason- 
ably,” he said. “ I did n’t want to shoot you, 
and besides I have only one shell left. I may 
want that for bigger game before I ’m 
through.” 

But the dog still watched from the shelter 
of the bush. His growls showed that, though 
he was afraid of the gun, he was not afraid of 
the boy behind it, and Fred shuddered to think 
what the beast would do to him if he were left 
unprotected. He sprang suddenly at the bush 
and waved the gun in the air. 

“ Scat! ” he shouted. 

272 


A FORTUNATE FALL 


The dog yelped in fear and retreated. 

“ All right,” said Fred. “ So long as I can 
keep you at a respectful distance without using 
my last shot, I ’m satisfied. You can follow 
me if you want to.” 

He turned and resumed his jog trot, glanc- 
ing back over his shoulder every now and then 
to see that the dog did not approach too near. 
His progress was now much slower, but he 
knew that his goal was not very far off, so he 
kept up his courage by telling himself over 
and over again that, even if Mr. Ball had 
passed the fire, he would soon return and go 
over the ground again, for he was not the 
kind of man to give up a quest because of one 
failure. 

Fred glanced over his shoulder again at the 
dog and was surprised to see the brute stand- 
ing still, his ears cocked up and his whole at- 
tention turned to something behind him. Soon 
Fred knew what it was. He heard a loud 
yelping from the wood and Farmer Hollins’ 
angry voice commanding: 

“ Go on, sick him, boy. Go for him. I ’m 
with ye.” 


273 


CHAPTER XXVI 

A FALL NOT SO FORTUNATE 

“ I ’m not out of this, after all,” thought Fred, 
as he realized that the farmer was still pur- 
suing him with the other dog. 

The brute in front of the lad still stood with 
his ears cocked up and his whole attention 
turned to the direction from which he heard 
his master’s voice calling. He was frantically 
wagging his tail in short anxious jerks as he 
heard the words of command, and he gave a 
half whine, half yelp of uncertainty, but he 
did not move from his position. 

“ Go on,” said Fred encouragingly. “ Go 
get him.” 

The dog glanced around in indecision, and 
the boy once more brought his gun to his 
shoulder, pointing it at the brute’s face. 

“ Go,” he ordered more firmly. 

The Great Dane gave another low yelp and 
ran a few yards away from Fred toward his 
master. 


274 


A FALL NOT SO FORTUNATE 


“ That ’s right. Go get him,” said the boy. 

Once more the dog gave him a glance of 
indecision and then, with lowered head, set 
off at a rapid lope through the underbrush 
toward the spot from which Farmer Hollins’ 
voice had sounded. In a few minutes he was 
out of sight among the trees and Fred breathed 
more easily. 

“ Well,” he said to himself, “ I ’m glad he ’s 
gone, anyway. It gives me a better chance to 
get out of the way of my friend Hollins. Now 
to run for it.” 

He swung the gun again at his side and took 
up his former easy but rapid loping trot, bend- 
ing low to avoid the hanging branches of the 
trees and looking out anxiously for a path to 
the right that would take him nearer to the 
river. But in this he failed, for he had not 
gone many hundred feet before he again heard 
the loud commands of the farmer to his dogs, 
and when Fred stopped to listen more carefully 
he found that these commands came from much 
farther west than they had before. Evidently 
the farmer was cutting toward the river and 
had made better time than the fugitive, for 
he had made escape in that direction practically 
impossible without discovery. 

“ Oh, well,” muttered Fred, “ I can find my 
275 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

blazed trail by going east, even if it will take 
me a little longer.” 

Accordingly he bore off to the left, and 
when again he stopped to listen the farmer’s 
voice came to him very faintly and at so great 
a distance that there was no longer anything 
to fear from his pursuit. 

“ Now,” said Fred, “ if I can get out of this 
wood and into the open country along the road, 
I shall probably soon be with Paddy. I shall 
probably make better time by cutting straight 
in and taking the road openly. With this gun 
I can easily pretend to be out on an early gun- 
ning trip.” 

He suddenly remembered, however, that 
Zeke Parker and his friends were still wait- 
ing for him at the spot where he had left the 
skinned stick, and he decided to avoid the road, 
making the best of his way out of sight of 
the posse who had been on his tracks so long. 

He did, however, cut inland to avoid the 
thick part of the wood. Soon the road was in 
sight, separated from the trees by a cleared 
field two hundred yards or more across, and 
here Fred stood for some time to take his bear- 
ings and study the problem before him. 

The field before him was not much longer 
than it was wide. To his right, his way would 
276 


A FALL NOT SO FORTUNATE 


be cut off by the wood which grew to the very 
edge of the road and seemed thicker and more 
impassable than the growth he had just come 
through. 

“ I ’ll risk the road for half a mile at least,” 
thought Fred. “ I can make much better time 
on it and I can easily leave it before I come 
in sight of Parker and his sleuths. I cer- 
tainly cannot waste any more time in these 
woods.” 

Acting immediately upon this determination, 
he cut boldly across the field and struck the 
road. 

“ Hullo, Bub,” called a hearty voice to his 
left. “ You ’re out early. Shot anything 
yet?” 

Fred wheeled about, determined upon in- 
stant action with the gun rather than again 
submitting to delay or capture. But the man 
approaching him down the road was not one 
of those who had been pursuing him through 
the night. He was evidently a laboring man 
going to his work, for he carried a lunch pail 
swung across his left arm. The lad waited 
until he came abreast and then walked with 
him, thinking rapidly but making up his mind 
that it was best not to arouse suspicion. 

“ No,” said Fred, “ I haven’t shot anything 
277 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

yet. It ’s a bit dark and I ’ve only just started 
out” 

“ What are you after, rabbits? ” 

“ No. Rabbits are n’t in season. I ’m after 
’most anything that ’s worth shooting.” 

“ Great country you ’ve got around here,” 
volunteered the man. “ I only got here yester- 
day. I ’m workin’ on the new job they ’re goin’ 
t’ do down here at th’ station.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Fred, as though he knew 
all about it. “ Ought to be a pretty good job, 
ought n’t it? ” 

“ Sure,” said the man. “ It ’ll make Fern- 
wood quite a place when it ’s done.” 

“ So,” thought the boy, “ Fern wood is the 
name of the place where I became so bold a 
burglar as to arouse the whole countryside. 
I ’ll have to look it up on the map when I get 
home.” 

Aloud he said, “ Yep, we ’ll all be mighty 
proud of ourselves after you get through. 
We ’ve only been a little one-horse place up 
to now.” 

All this while they had been walking rapidly 
toward the spot where Zeke Parker’s posse was 
lying in wait for the mysterious bandit who had 
broken into their station. Fred kept a sharp 
lookout ahead, determined to get away im- 
278 


A FALL NOT SO FORTUNATE 


mediately as soon as they came in sight of the 
danger zone. 

“ Do you always have to get to work before 
daylight? ” asked Fred, wishing to appear per- 
fectly at ease. 

“ When we ’re on a job like this we do,” the 
man explained. “ You see, there ’s a good deal 
to be done in tearing up the tracks and we do 
it so as to get the worst of it over before the 
regular trains begin running for the day.” 

“ What’s your work?” asked the lad. 

“ I ’m an electrician,” his companion replied. 
“ I ’ve got charge of installing the new tele- 
graph wires.” 

This made conversation easy for Fred, for 
electricity had always been his hobby and his 
experience as a telegraph operator had made 
him familiar with the practical working ,of 
the business. He was glad to give the talk 
this turn, because it kept the man from ask- 
ing questions about the people of that section 
that Fred might not be in a position to answer 
without arousing suspicion. So they talked as 
they walked until the lad decided that it would 
be dangerous for him to keep to the road any 
farther. The coming daybreak made it easy 
by this time to distinguish objects at quite a 
distance and he knew that Zeke Parker would 
279 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

recognize him on sight. So he stopped and 
gazed into the wood to their right. 

“ Looks like promising gunning in there,” 
he said. “ I think I 'll try it.” 

The man held out his hand cordially, and 
Fred grasped it. 

“ I ’d like to see you again,” said the elec- 
trician. “ I ’m stopping down here at Con- 
stable Evans’ place. Suppose you drop around 
to see me after supper to-night. I did n’t ex- 
pect to meet any one in this part of the country 
who knows as much about electricity as you 
do and maybe I can tell you things that ’ll help 
you get a job in the city if you want one.” 

“ Thanks,” said Fred. “ If nothing inter- 
feres I ’d be glad to do it.” 

He vaulted lightly over the fence and, with 
a parting wave of the hand, struck into the 
wood. As soon as he was out of sight from 
the road, he turned to the left again and ran, 
taking advantage of the comparative lack of 
thick undergrowth near the fields. He kept a 
sharp lookout ahead of him, for he knew that 
he would soon be near the path that he had 
blazed among the trees when he had left Paddy 
and Walter by the river side. 

But he was not long left to pursue his way 
at his ease. He heard a shout from the road, 
280 


A FALL NOT SO FORTUNATE 


an answering hail, and he stopped as he real- 
ized that Zeke Parker and his sleuths had prob- 
ably halted the man with whom he had just 
been walking. Their voices came to him clearly 
in the still air. 

“Yep,” said Parker's voice, “a youngish 
feller.” 

“ Have a gun with him?” asked his erst- 
while friend. 

“ Yep,” answered Zeke. “ Stole it from 
Farmer Hollins when he broke away from us 
and run fer th' woods.” 

“ He left me not a hundred yards back,” 
said the electrician. “ Said it looked like good 
gunning and he was going to try it.” 

“ Gunnin' nothin',” said Zeke disgustedly. 
“ There ain't no game in season at this time 
of year. He 's makin' fer thet gang of hisn 
he said was waiting fer him at th' river. Come 
on, fellers. We 'll scatter an' beat him to it.” 

Fred saw two heads appear above a hillock 
not many hundred yards away and he knew 
that the pursuit had begun. But he did not 
run. He knew that he would be no match for 
these men who probably knew every foot of the 
woods and who could cut him off with little 
trouble. So he stood where he was, only hug- 
ging close behind the trunk of a giant oak tree 
281 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

and furtively watching his pursuers as they 
appeared one by one over the hillock and dashed 
into the wood. 

“ Let them go,” thought the lad. “ I ’m as 
safe here as anywhere, and it will be easier to 
get away from them after they have scattered 
anyway.” 

Soon the last of the posse had disappeared 
among the trees, and Fred again breathed 
easily. 

He heard them tearing among the branches 
and bushes. They ran heavily and noisily, as* 
all farmers do, and even had he been directly 
in their paths it would probably have been an 
easy matter for him to keep out of their way, 
for he could have heard them coming long 
before they could have caught sight of him. 

“ I ’ll just try a shrewd little scheme,” 
thought the boy. “ I ’ve been hunted long 
enough to-night. I ’ll do a little hunting 
myself.” 

He swung the gun over his shoulder and 
started at an easy trot toward the sounds that 
came from the man nearest to him. The lad 
made little or no noise as he ran, while the 
man ahead of him floundered along so loudly 
that he could not have heard Fred, even had 
the lad’s footsteps been heavier. 

282 


A FALL NOT SO FORTUNATE 


Soon Fre3 caught sight of the farmer among 
the trees. He was bearing somewhat to the 
north of west, that is, he was striking for the 
river, but instead of cutting straight for it he 
was swerving toward the road from which 
Fred had just come. This did not greatly 
please the lad, as it took him away from his 
blazed trail, but he followed, knowing that 
the other members of Zeke’s posse were to the 
south, and that, if he left this man and went 
toward them, he might be surrounded and all 
his avenues of escape cut off. As it was, he 
could retreat to the road or cut to the right 
if the man he was pursuing should discover 
him. Besides, Fred had his gun, which would 
give him the greatest advantage so long as he 
had only one man to deal with. 

“ And,” he argued to himself, “ this fellow 
probably knows a great deal more about these 
woods than I do and he may be taking an 
easy path that will curve to the south after a 
while and land us at the fire sooner than the 
others, after all.” 

The man ahead of him did not run long. He 
stopped and sat upon a fallen log, puffing 
heavily and evidently thoroughly exhausted by 
his unwonted exertions. 

“ I ’m clean tuckered out,” Fred heard him 
283 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

mutter. “ Blowed ef I ’m goin' any further. 
I 'll go up t' Hollins's an' wait there fer th' rest 
of th' fellers." 

He rose stiffly and started slowly toward 
the north, where Farmer Hollins' house lay. 
Fred watched him until he had disappeared 
among the trees. 

“ Oh, well," thought the lad, “ I guess I can 
find the rest of the way myself." 

He listened for sounds of his other pur- 
suers, but heard nothing. They had all evi- 
dently gone farther south, or, like the man 
he had followed, had given up the chase. 

“ Whichever way it is," he said, “ it suits 
me, for it leaves me a clear path to myself." 

Now thoroughly satisfied that he was safe 
from pursuit, the lad swung the gun at his 
side and plunged into the forest toward the 
river, taking a course that bent to the south, 
where he knew their fire lay. It was very 
rough work among the undergrowth, which 
grew thicker and thicker as he advanced, but 
he bent low and wormed his way among the 
cutting twigs and branches, forgetting the pain 
of their stings in his anxiety to rejoin Paddy 
and find Mr. Ball's tug. 

The dim daylight was of little use to him 
here, the overhanging branches and thick- 
284 


A FALL NOT SO FORTUNATE 


growing bushes shutting it out and making his 
path almost as dark as though it were night. 

The lad mounted a rise in the ground and 
at the top leaped blindly over a fallen tree 
trunk. As he landed on the other side, he 
saw in a flash that he was upon the brink of a 
deep gully, but he was too late to stop. His 
feet slipped from under him, the edge of the 
ground gave way beneath his weight and he 
plunged over the brink head first, landing in 
a heap at the bottom, huddled up helplessly, 
motionless, almost lifeless, and with a little 
stream of red trickling from under his long 
hair over his left eye. 

He had struck a stone in his fall and con- 
sciousness had left him. 


285 


CHAPTER XXVII 

ALL HOPE IS GONE 

It was broad daylight and the birds were 
singing madly in the trees. The sun was sev- 
eral hours high, the chill of the night had 
passed and the warmth of the early morning 
air gave promise of an ideal day. 

Still huddled up in a helpless heap at the 
bottom of the gully where he had fallen, Fred 
Spencer at last slowly awoke to consciousness. 
A low moan escaped his lips, and he tried to 
straighten out his cramped limbs. But he did 
not attempt to rise. He was still too dazed 
to make any such effort. He was not yet fully 
conscious; only an instinctive stretching of 
the muscles showed that at last the heavy 
stupor that had followed his fall was leaving 
him. 

He half rolled over and turned his white 
face toward the sky. The stream of blood had 
clotted over his forehead and down his cheek, 
and the gash in his skin showed dull and in- 
286 


ALL HOPE IS GONE 

flamed. He stirred again and his lips seemed 
to be trying to form a word. 

“ Water/’ he murmured, but there was no 
one near to hear him and help him. “ Water/’ 
he murmured again, and this time his eyelids 
fluttered half open. 

Very slowly he seemed to gather his faculties 
together. His head rolled over to one side and 
he straightened it out again. The effort 
seemed to bring him to a sense of his position. 
His eyes opened and he stared straight above 
him, this time not blankly but with a look that 
showed that he was receiving mental impres- 
sions and trying to put them together into 
definite thoughts. 

For perhaps five minutes he lay in this way. 
Then, with a tightening of the lips, he turned 
upon his side and rose to his elbow. A groan 
escaped him as the motion started the pain in 
his cut head, and he reached down toward his 
ankle, showing that his leg, too, had been in- 
jured by his fall. 

With another effort that brought forth an- 
other groan of agony, he brought himself to 
a sitting position and began to look about him, 
evidently striving hard to realize where he was 
and how he had come there. But the dull and 
puzzled look in his eyes showed that he was still 
287 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

far from clear mentally, and it was only in a 
blind and unreasoning, almost instinctive, effort 
that he crawled, groping along the ground 
toward the rippling water of the river near by. 

It was not more than twenty feet away, but 
it was a terrible ordeal for the half-conscious 
and suffering boy to cover the distance. Time 
and again he sank upon the ground, exhausted 
and panting with the exertion, but all his senses 
cried aloud for water, and he kept his dull eyes 
toward the gleaming surface of the river, as it 
glinted through the low bushes. 

At last the edge of the undergrowth was 
passed, and Fred rolled, rather than crawled, 
over the sloping beach until he had reached the 
ripples washing up on the shore. He lay flat 
upon his stomach, his face buried in the cool- 
ing fluid, drinking it down into his parched 
throat in great gulping mouthfuls and pausing 
only when the need of fresh breath made it 
necessary for him to stop. Again and again 
he plunged his whole head beneath the water, 
raising it and letting the cool drops trickle 
down his face and from his hair into his collar 
and so down his back. 

It took but a few repetitions, of this to 
change him from the dull-eyed, listless and 
almost lifeless boy to something like the sem- 
288 


ALL HOPE IS GONE 


blance of his real self. His eyes grew brighter, 
the color came slowly back to his cheeks, and 
it was now easy for him to crawl back to a tree 
and raise himself to a sitting position with 
his shoulders resting against the broad trunk 
and his legs stretched out before him. 

“ There,” he said, “ that ’s better. Now, 
let ’s get the cobwebs cleared out of this brain 
of mine and see what has happened and what 
I am to do next.” 

The events of the past night came tumbling 
back into his memory like the recollection of 
some horrible nightmare. It seemed so long 
ago that all this had happened, but his present 
helpless situation made it all too apparent that 
the awful memories were only too true. 

“ Well,” he said, “ I’m in a pretty pickle 
now, certainly. It would have been better if 
Zeke Parker had caught me in the first place 
and taken me to the county lock-up. I might 
have been free by this time and I would n’t have 
this bloody head and this sore leg. Whew ! But 
that ankle does hurt. Wonder if it ’s sprained.” 

With many a grimace that showed the pain 
the operation caused him, he leaned over and 
slowly and tenderly removed the shoe and 
stocking from his left foot. Then he sat per- 
fectly still and gazed at it ruefully. 

289 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

It was certainly not a promising looking 
object. The outer skin of the ankle was almost 
black with congested blood, and the discolora- 
tion extended up the leg for six inches or more. 
It was badly swollen, too, and a line of 
whitened flesh showed how the top of his shoe 
had gradually become tighter and tighter as 
the swelling had increased while he had lain 
under the gully unconscious. 

“ A little cold water would help that a whole 
lot,” he suggested to himself. 

Accordingly, with considerable pain, but not 
nearly so much as had attended his previous 
efforts, he crawled once more to the water's 
edge, this time sitting with his face to the 
river and his feet resting among the little 
waves as they rippled gently over them. It 
was a great relief from the agony he had 
borne. Each cooling dash of spray seemed to 
take away some of the pain, and he sat there 
contentedly, deciding to continue the treatment 
while he laid his plans for the next move in the 
curious game of chance he found himself 
playing. 

“ I wonder what I did with Farmer Hollins' 
gun?" he thought. His memory went back 
to his attempt to leap over the log that had 
hidden the brink of the gully down which he 
290 


ALL HOPE IS GONE 


had fallen. He recalled that he had made a 
wild clutch with both hands to seize anything 
that would save him, and he decided that he 
must have dropped the gun then and that it 
was at that moment lying beside the log on 
the high bank of the hill. 

“ I wish I had kept hold of it,” he said rue- 
fully. “ Nobody can tell what is going to hap- 
pen to me before I get back to the office of the 
Morning Call — if I ever do get back — and a 
gun is a mighty handy thing to have about 
when you 're as unpopular in a community as 
I seem to be in the neighborhood of Fern- 
wood. Gee, but they have given me a chase.” 

And then his thoughts took a more serious 
turn as he contemplated the complete collapse 
of all his carefully laid plans and the impossi- 
bility of his going any farther with the affair 
with his ankle so badly sprained that he could 
not walk. 

“ And,” he thought, “ I suppose Ball has 
gone back to the city thoroughly disgusted and 
Paddy and Walter are half starved to death be- 
side the remains of the fire. And I am almost 
starved myself. Oh, well, I did my best and I 
shall simply have to wait here until some one 
comes to my assistance.” 

He gazed out over the river, his thoughts re- 
291 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


calling the terrible struggle they had had the 
night before — it seemed months ago — in 
their crazy little boat with Righter pursuing 
them through the storm in his motor boat. 
How much had happened since then ! He had 
tried so hard, he had endured such perils, he 
had planned so carefully, and now he was sit- 
ting helpless on the bank of the river, his ankle 
swollen and useless, his head cut and dazed, 
his plans all gone awry, his whole scheme a 
pitiful failure. 

He rose and tried to take a step or two. The 
ankle was too tender for him to lean much 
weight upon it, so he picked up a strong stick 
that lay near him among the underbrush and 
practiced walking with this as a support. He 
did fairly well, but it was a nerve-racking effort 
and he realized that it would be impossible for 
him to travel far by this method. 

“ It ’s no use,” he muttered. “ Hello. 
What’s this?” 

He listened attentively to the sound that 
came from around the bend in the bank above 
him. Somebody was splashing in the water, 
and a loud creaking sounded like badly handled 
oars in loose oarlocks. Soon the bow of a row- 
boat appeared nosing its way slowly from un- 
der the trees, and a moment later Fred saw. 

292 


ALL HOPE IS GONE 


its sole occupant, a boy about fifteen years old, 
sitting awkwardly upon the thwarts and hand- 
ling his oars in a way that showed him to 
be a very poor waterman. But Fred cared 
nothing for his skill or lack of skill. The prin- 
cipal point was that the boy in the boat was 
going down stream toward their fire and that 
there was room in the stern for a passenger. 

“ Hello/' shouted Fred. 

The boy stopped rowing and turned to look 
at the lad on the shore. 

“ Hello," he answered. “ What 's the 
matter ? " 

“ Sprained my ankle, I 'm afraid," said 
Fred. “ I was out with a gun early this morn- 
ing and fell over that hill there. I 've been 
helpless here ever since. Take me a bit down 
the river with you, will you ? " 

“ I ain't goin' far," said the boy. 

“ Well, that 's all right," answered Fred. 
“ I don’t want to go far. A couple of friends 
of mine were to meet me down the shore here 
a little way, and if you 'll take me to them they 
will see that I get home all right." 

“ All right," said the boy. “ I 'll come in 
and get you." 

He attempted to swing on his left oar to 
head the boat inshore, but it was almost a 
293 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

disastrous attempt, for the blade only skimmed 
the water and offered no resistance to the 
strength the lad had put into it. He was 
thrown scrambling into the bottom of the boat, 
but he picked himself up with a good-natured 
laugh and tried again, this time with better re- 
sults. The nose of the craft slid over the hard 
sloping sand, and the boy sprang to the shore. 
He looked curiously at Fred’s swollen and dis- 
colored ankle. 

“ Gee,” he said with a whistle. “ You ’ve got 
a nice-lookin’ foot on you, ain’t you? Hurt 
much? ” 

“ You bet,” said Fred. “ I can’t walk more 
than a few steps, even with this stick.” 

“ Where ’s your gun? ” asked the boy. 

“ I must have dropped it up there on the 
high bank,” answered the young reporter. 
“ Will you climb up and see if you can find it? ” 

“ Sure,” said the boy, and he sprang away 
through the underbrush. 

It took but a few moments for him to mount 
the rising ground and climb the hillock, and 
almost immediately he gave a shout and picked 
up the gun from behind the log. 

“ Here it is,” he cried. “ It ’s still got a shell 
in it, too.” 

He brought the weapon back and handed 
294 


ALL HOPE IS GONE 

it to Fred and then turned his attention to the 
boat. 

“ You ’d better climb in first,” he said. 
“ You ’ll want to get into the stern while 
I do the rowing.” 

“ You ’d better let me handle the oars,” said 
Fred laughingly. “ I don’t believe you ’re as 
good at it as I am and I ’m sure I ’m much 
the stronger of the two.” 

“All right,” answered the boy good-na- 
turedly. “ Take your place and I ’ll shove her 
off.” 

Soon they were out upon the river, and Fred 
turned the boat’s nose close inshore and began 
rowing slowly down stream, glancing hurriedly 
over his shoulder every now and then for signs 
of Paddy and Walter and the fire. 

“ You must ’ve been havin’ some excitement 
round here lately,” said the boy. 

“ Why?” asked Fred. 

“ I jest rowed three men up to that farm- 
house up there, lookin’ fer a feller about your 
age that they wanted mighty bad,” explained 
the youth. Then he noticed the look of min- 
gled fear and anger that crossed Fred’s face 
and he whistled in sudden comprehension. 

“ Say,” he cried excitedly. “ You ’re th’ 
feller, ain’t you? Hully chee, you gotter git 
295 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

outer this boat. I ’d lose me job if they knowed 
I helped you.” 

Fred stopped rowing and picked up his gun 
with a meaning look. 

“ All right, young fellow,” he said. “ I ’ll 
get out. I don’t want to get you into trouble, 
but I ’m going to see that you don’t get me into 
trouble, either. Now, you just promise me on 
your solemn word of honor that you won’t 
betray me.” 

The boy looked thoroughly frightened. 

“ What if they ask me? ” he asked. 

“ Then,” said Fred grimly, “ you ’ll have to 
tell the truth, but you must n’t forget to tell 
them also that I have a gun with me, that it 
is loaded, and that I am an excellent shot and 
will defend myself without regard to conse- 
quences to them or to me. Do you understand 
what I mean by that ? ” 

“ Do you mean you ’d shoot ’em ? ” asked the 
boy in an awestruck tone. 

“ Precisely,” said Fred. “ And I ’d shoot 
to kill. I have committed no crime, I have 
been chased all night until I am now desperate, 
and I do not propose to put up with any more 
persecution/ Besides, my sprained ankle makes 
it impossible for me to run away from them, 
and the only thing I can do is to defend myself 
296 


ALL HOPE IS GONE 


even if it costs life and I will do it. Do you 
understand ? ” 

“ Sure,” nodded the boy. “ Gee, you must 
be one er dem boy bandits you read about.” 

Fred smiled. 

“ No,” he said, “ I 'm not a bandit. I 'm a 
perfectly honest young man earning an honest 
living, but I was caught last night when ap- 
pearances were very much against me. They 
would not let me explain things to them and 
this is the result.” 

“ All right,” said the boy. “ I ’ll keep mum 
if you 'll git outer de boat. One of 'em 's apt 
t' see you an' I 'd lose me job.” 

Fred headed inshore and drove the bow over 
the soft sand under a tree. He stepped out 
and shoved the boat away again, smiling at 
the boy's awkward attempts to seat himself 
at the oars quickly. But they had come so far 
as to make Fred feel sure that Paddy and 
Walter were near enough to help him. He 
was almost certain that a tree only a hundred 
feet down the stream was the one under which 
they had built their fire and he was much en- 
couraged by the smoothness and clearness of 
the ground that lay between him and the goal. 
He was refreshed by his short row on the 
river. He felt confident that with care he 
297 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

could walk at least half the distance and get 
close enough to hail his companions without 
shouting loudly enough to be heard by enemies. 

With his shoe and his gun tucked under his 
left arm and his stick in his right hand, he be- 
gan, half limping, half hopping, to cover the 
ground between and he was gratified by the 
progress he made. 

“ I believe I can go all the way,” he thought. 
“ Then I won’t have to yell at all.” 

He smiled to himself as he pictured the sur- 
prise of the two youths when he appeared un- 
expectedly from the bushes. 

“ Paddy will think I am a ghost,” he thought. 

Soon he was at the outer edge of the clearing 
and burst through, intending to astound the 
two waiting youths at the fire. But he stopped 
short in dismay. 

The place was deserted. There was not a 
sign of life about. Only the charred embers 
of their fire remained to convince him that this 
was the place where he thought his troubles 
would end, but where, apparently, they were 
to be made longer and more discouraging. 


298 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


A PRISONER ONCE MORE 

Fred limped over to the tree under which 
they had built their fire and sat down slowly 
and painfully with his back against the great 
gnarled trunk. His eyes stared vacantly about 
the deserted clearing as he tried to realize this 
latest and greatest of his troubles. 

He had been fully prepared for varying for- 
tunes in his dealings with the great outside 
world from which the reporters had to wrest 
their information. But Paddy O'Day he had 
always counted upon as the one person to be 
depended upon under all circumstances and 
conditions. When he had left his Irish friend 
in charge of Walter by the fire, he had been 
perfectly at ease in his mind that Paddy would, 
in spite of all dangers, stick to his post with 
their prisoner, and that he would be there to 
greet the young reporter, now so badly in need 
of his assistance. 

“ Paddy, Paddy,” moaned Fred, “ you've 
299 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

left me at a bad time. You must have been 
in some awfully tight place to desert me or you 
surely would have contrived to leave me a mes- 
sage in some way.” 

He rose to his feet and began hobbling about 
the clearing, looking for some word left by his 
absent ally. He studied every inch of the great 
tree trunk, the upturned leaves, he limped over 
to the dead ashes of their fire and raked among 
them with his stick, hoping that Paddy had 
concealed a bit of paper there to let him know 
what had happened during his absence. But 
there was nothing. 

“ I wonder,” he muttered, “ whether he went 
away in the boat. He may have heard some of 
my pursuers coming this way and thought that 
the best way out was a quick flight by water 
until the coast was clear. If that is the case, 
he will be back soon or he is probably watching 
this clearing from concealment and would an- 
swer a signal. I 'll see about the boat.” 

He crawled on his hands and knees out on 
the soft sand under the low-hanging branches 
and parted them where they had concealed the 
cranky old craft in which Paddy had escaped 
from the city and which had saved them from 
Righter on that terrible night of storm and 
stress. 


3°o 


A PRISONER ONCE MORE 


The boat was not there. 

“ That must be what they have done,” he 
thought. 

He hobbled to the edge of the river and 
looked up and down as far as his eyes could 
see, but there was no sign of his friend. A 
tug puffed its way down far off toward the 
other shore, but it was bound for the bay many 
miles below and would do him no good. A 
large motor boat, with cabins gleaming white 
and clean and brass work glinting in the sun, 
was throbbing upstream even farther over 
toward the opposite shore. 

“ If she were only nearer,” he thought, “ I 
could signal her and get her owner to take me 
up to the city. That would at least get me in 
communication with Mr. Ball, and I could ex- 
plain how hard I tried to land this story and 
how much I put up with even if I did not suc- 
ceed. He might give me another chance, or we 
might plan some way of picking up these 
threads where they got out of my hands, for I 
have certainly learned enough to show that 
there is a mighty good story in this and that 
it is possible to get it.” 

But the motor boat nosed her way impu- 
dently through the waves a mile or more 
across the river, and Fred turned once more 
301 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

disconsolately to the scene of their deserted 
camp. 

He realized now that he was in a more 
serious position than he had been before. It 
was impossible for him to run away if any 
of his enemies should find out where he was, 
and he feared that they would soon learn 
from the boy in the boat in spite of Fred’s 
threats. 

The lad again made a thorough search of 
all places where Paddy could possibly have con- 
cealed a note, but not a scrap of paper re- 
warded him. He was absolutely alone and 
unable to help himself out of his predicament. 

“ Well,” he thought, “ I don’t see that I can 
do anything but wait for something to turn up. 
Paddy will be here to find me sooner or later, 
so I might as well be as patient as possible.” 

Again he sat down with his back against the 
tree, his swollen ankle stretched out upon the 
soft moss and his aching head resting against 
the trunk. It was deliciously warm and com- 
fortable, and he was so weary that he found it 
hard to keep awake. He was very hungry, too, 
and the thought of a possible meal made him 
almost wish that some one would come and 
capture him. But there was not a sound to 
disturb the stillness of the wood except the 
302 


A PRISONER ONCE MORE 


gentle and soothing lapping of the water on 
the sloping shore. 

His eyes closed and his head fell slowly for- 
ward, his chin upon his chest and his whole 
body relaxed in the peaceful slumber that 
comes to a healthy young boy who is very 
tired. Over his head the birds sang wildly, 
but he slept on and no sound disturbed him. 

Beyond him, could he have seen them, events 
were taking place that would soon have made 
him spring to his feet in spite of his lame ankle. 
The tree against which he rested leaned far 
out over the water, its low-hanging branches 
effectually concealing all that took place on the 
river below. There was here a little bay curv- 
ing gently into the shore, and, unseen by Fred, 
a tug lay anchored there. 

As the lad slept, the boat in which the 
strange boy had brought him part way down 
the stream was moored to the tug, and the boy 
himself was standing on the deck excitedly 
explaining to three men the adventure that he 
had had with the young reporter. The men 
listened attentively and, after a consultation 
among themselves, one of them jumped into 
the boat and rowed to shore, landing not ten 
feet below the place where his prey was sleep- 
ing. But the man did not know of Fred’s 
303 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

presence. He only knew that the lad had been 
landed not far above and that he was unable 
to walk fast or any great distance. 

He tied the boat, sprang up the bank, and 
plunged in among the trees. But he passed 
the sleeping youth. His object evidently was to 
circle inside of the track that the lad would 
probably take, for he went to the right, avoiding 
the clearing and working his way through the 
trees and underbrush until he stopped suddenly 
and bent over, studying closely the broken 
branch of a bush that Fred had crushed. Evi- 
dently satisfied that he was now on the trail of 
the lad he sought, he doubled to the left and re- 
turned along Fred's path, stopping frequently 
to examine the marks the boy had left and 
advancing with his body crouched and his eyes 
almost continuously upon the ground. The 
path was an easy one to follow. The ground 
was soft, and Fred’s stick, which he had been 
forced to lean upon heavily, had left its mark 
every few feet. 

Soon the man came to the edge of the clear- 
ing and stopped again. His eyes swept the 
spot, and when they lighted upon the sleeping 
youth, a smile of satisfaction crossed the man’s 
face and he advanced cautiously upon tiptoe 
to where the boy lay. 

304 


A PRISONER ONCE MORE 


Without making a sound he picked up the 
gun that lay upon the moss, opened it, smiled 
as he saw the shell, closed the gun again, and 
then deliberately sat down in front of the lad, 
the gun across his knees and his eyes still 
smiling in satisfaction. 

“ Come on, young feller. Wake up,” he said. 

But Fred did not stir. He was too soundly 
asleep to be wakened by such a low voice as 
the man used. 

“ Wake up, you,” commanded the man in 
a louder tone, and he emphasized his words 
with a prod from the gun. 

Fred’s eyes opened suddenly. 

“ Eh ? ” he said, still half asleep. “ What ’s 
the matter ? ” 

“ I just want yer t’ wake up an’ come wid 
me,” said the man. “ That is, if yer foot ’s 
well enough fer ye t’ walk a few feet.” 

“ Who are you?” demanded Fred, now 
thoroughly awake and pretty well frightened. 
He saw that the man had taken his gun, and 
he knew that there was nothing he could do 
but obey orders quietly and submit. 

“ That ’s all right about who I am,” said 
the man. “ The question I want to hear an- 
swered is who are you and what ’ve you bin 
doin’ t’ be wanted so bad? You don’t look 
305 


FRED. SPENCER; REPORTER 

much like a despTit character, but you seem t’ 
be wanted mighty hard.” 

“ I have n’t been doing anything that ’s 
wrong,” protested Fred. “This whole thing 
is a big mistake, and I can explain it all if 
you will only listen. None of the others would 
believe me, so I just broke away from them 
and ran for it.” 

“Well, I guess you won’t do much runnin’ 
now, will you ? Thet foot o’ yourn looks purty 
sore. Jest set still a minute an’ I ’ll git some 
water an’ bathe it fer you. No reason why you 
should suffer even if I hev ketched ye.” 

The man rose and went to the river. He 
filled his slouch hat with water and came back, 
kneeling before Fred and appearing as tender 
as a woman. 

“ Now,” he said, “ we ’ll jest let th’ water 
run in a little thin stream over th’ sore place. 
Thet ’s th’ best way t’ do it. It ’s better ’n 
rubbin’ or even soakin’ th’ foot.” 

He let a tiny rivulet of the water trickle over 
the edge of the hat and down upon the sore 
ankle. It felt almost painful at first, but soon 
a delicious sense of numbness and freedom 
from sensation began to creep up the boy’s leg. 

“ Feel better? ” asked the man, as the water 
in the hat was exhausted. 

306 


A PRISONER ONCE MORE 


“ Very much, thank you,” answered Fred. 

“ I ’ll git another hatful,” said his captor. 
“ Might ’s well do th’ thing right while we ’re 
at it.” 

He went again to the river and returned 
to repeat the operation. Fred watched him 
carefully and found it hard to realize that this 
man with his kindly instincts and his gentle 
eyes was an enemy and must be dealt with with- 
out favor if an opportunity arose to get the 
upper hand of him. 

But there seemed little chance for the boy. 
Fred noticed that when the man went to the 
river he kept the gun carefully tucked under 
his arm and that every time he stooped down he 
glanced under his arm at his captive to make 
sure that there was no hostile move made. 
He was a careful captor, even if he was a 
kindly one. 

“ There,” said the man, “ try it now.” 

Fred rose to his feet and took a step for- 
ward. He did not go far, however. At the 
third or fourth step a sudden twinge of pain 
shot up his leg, and he sank upon the ground, 
not so much in agony as from the surprise. 

“ All right,” said the man. “ It ’s a heap 
better, I guess, or you would n’t ’ve been able 
t’ take them few steps. Course, I did n’t ex- 

307 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

pect you t 9 go far. But you ’ll be all right in 
a day or two after you ’ve had a good rest. 
That ’s all you need now.” 

“ Well,” said Fred, “ now that you ’ve got 
me, I suppose I ’ll have plenty of time to rest 
up in, won’t I ? ” 

The man smiled. 

“ ’Deed, I don’t know, sonny,” he said. “ I 
don’t know what ye ’ve been doin’. All I know 
is that you ’re wanted mighty bad and that 
I ’ve got you. So I ’ll jest nat’rally hev t’ keep 
you.” 

Fred’s thoughts flew fast, but they could 
suggest no way of escape. 

“ Yes,” he assented slowly, “ I suppose you 
will. Those are your orders, and you have 
nothing to do but' obey them. But it seems 
hard. As I said, I have n’t done a thing wrong 
and I should have succeeded in doing a mighty 
big piece of work if it had n’t been for a lot of 
unfortunate circumstances. You ’re the last 
and you ’re the most unfortunate so far as my 
part of the business is concerned.” 

“ Thet ’s too bad,” said the man sincerely. 
“ I don’t like t’ be in nobody’s way, least of all 
a likely young feller like you, but this ain’t 
any of my business, an’ all I kin do is treat 
you as good as possible so long ’s you don’t give 
308 


A PRISONER ONCE MORE 


me no trouble. But my orders is strict thet if 
I see you I ain’t t’ let you go, an’ my superior ’s 
has certainly took an awful lot of trouble t’ 
find you. Well, we won’t hold no hard feelin’s 
fer each other nohow. You jest come along 
with me aboard th’ tug an’ you kin rest quiet 
until th’ Boss gits back.” 

“ The Boss,” echoed Fred in dismay. 

Had Blake brought the tug Vixen here to 
hunt him down? Had Walter escaped and 
joined his uncle in an effort to capture the 
young reporter who had caused them so much 
trouble ? 

“ Sure, th’ Boss,” answered the man. 

Fred gasped in terror. 

“ You don’t mean Blake, do you? ” he stam- 
mered. 

“ Well,” said the man with a severer note in 
his voice, “ his name ’s Blake all right, but we 
all have some respect fer him, so we call him 
Captain. Seems t’ me, as you ’re sech a young 
feller an’ you ’re apt t’ want t’ git on th’ right 
side of him as much as possible, you ’d better 
remember your manners an’ call him Captain, 
too.” 

Fred staggered against the tree. 

This, then, was the end of his dreams. All 
this suffering, all this privation, all this careful 
309 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


planning, all these high hopes and aspirations 
had ended in — what ? 

“ All right,” he said in utter weariness and 
hopelessness. “ I 'll go with you quietly. It ’s 
all up with me now.” 


310 


CHAPTER XXIX 


FRED GIVES UP THE FIGHT 

Truly it seemed that it was “ all up ” with 
the young reporter. Helpless as he was, with 
one foot practically useless, his only friend and 
ally in the hands of the enemy and himself a 
prisoner of this strong man who had taken 
away his only weapon of defense, Fred was 
far from feeling that confidence with which he 
had started out on his exciting mission. 

“ Well/' he said, “ I ’m ready to go with you 
as soon as you want to start. As long as there 
seems nothing left for me to do, I think I should 
enjoy as complete a rest as possible until Blake 
• — I beg your pardon — Captain Blake comes 
to make life miserable again for me.” 

“ Oh, I guess it won’t be as bad as thet,” 
said the man. “ Thet ain’t Captain Blake’s 
style, to make folks miserable.” 

Fred smiled grimly as he remembered the 
brutal-faced villain whom he had pursued so 
bravely until the tables were turned. 

3ii 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ I guess you don , t know him as well as I 
do,” said the lad. 

He tried to take a few steps forward, but 
the foot hurt him badly and he stopped. 

“ I can’t make it,” he said. “ You ’ll have 
to help me.” 

The man came close and put his arm around 
the boy’s waist. 

“ Now,” he said, “ you jest put yer arm 
around my neck, and I kin lift ye right off ’n 
yer feet ’thout feelin’ yer weight at all.” 

Fred obeyed, and they made their way 
around the trunk of the great tree to the place 
where the man had landed in his rowboat. 
Here Fred saw for the first time that there 
was a tug at anchor. 

“ Is that the Vixen? ” he asked. 

“ No,” answered his companion, “ it ’s the 
Wanderer , an’ a fine craft she is, too.” 

“ How long have you been here? ” asked the 
lad. 

“ Oh, only a few hours. Come on now. Git 
inter th’ rowboat, an’ I ’ll soon have ye out 
where ye kin rest thet foot o’ yourn.” 

He carried Fred down to the water’s edge 
and deposited him carefully beside the bow of 
the boat where it rested on the sand. It 
seemed more than ever hard for Fred to pic- 
3 12 



He carried Fred down to the water’s edge and deposited 
him carefully beside the bow of the boat where it rested 
on the sand 


Page 312 







♦ 



















FRED GIVES UP THE FIGHT 


ture this man as an enemy. In every move 
that he made he showed a rough but tender 
gentleness that marked him as anything but 
the type who would associate with such men 
as Blake and Righter and Bill Fisher. 

Fred crawled carefully out until he reached 
the seat in the stern and then he sat down, his 
sore foot resting on the thwart before him. 

The man stood gazing out to the tug. 

“ Hello, Bill,” he called. 

Fred’s heart sank. So Bill Fisher was 
aboard the tug. The lad’s troubles were cer- 
tainly multiplying. 

“ Hello-o,” came the faint echo from the 
tug. 

“ Git th’ bunk in th’ for’ard cabin ready,” 
shouted Fred’s captor. “ Th’ kid ’s hurt purty 
bad.” 

“ All ri-i-ight,” came the answer. 

The man shoved off and sprang into the 
boat as the bow left the sand, and the craft 
lurched down into the water under the sudden 
weight. 

“ May N I ask what your name is?” asked 
Fred, as the man took his seat at the oars. 

“ Cert’nly,” answered the man. “ I don’t see 
no harm in thet. My name ’s John Maddox. 
An’ what might yourn be?” 

3i3 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“ Mine ’s Fred Spencer/’ 

“ Well, Fred, you look like a likely young 
feller, an’ I hope you ’ll be able t’ show these 
people thet this here ’s all a big mistake an’ you 
ain’t bin doin’ nothin’ wrong. Maybe you kin 
do it, but th’ Boss don’t often make mistakes 
an’ I ain’t lookin’ fer you t’ hev much of a 
chanst. No,” as the lad started to explain, 
“ don’t tell me nothin’ about it ’cause it ’s none 
of my business, an’ besides I ’m so bloomin’ 
soft-hearted I might believe you an’ sorter 
pity you an’ let you go. An’ thet wouldn’t 
be right ’cause I ’ve got me orders, an’ or- 
ders ’s got t’ be obeyed. Else what ’s th’ use 
of ’em? ” 

“ That ’s right,” said the boy. “ If I man- 
age to get out of this scrape, I want to be good 
friends with you if you ’ll let me. You ’ve 
been very kind to me since you caught me, and 
I appreciate it.” 

“ Oh, thet ’s all right,” said John Maddox 
modestly. “ There was n’t any reason why I 
should be rough with ye. Ye’ve never done 
nothin’ against me an’, so fer as I know, 
against any one else. All ’s I know is I got me 
orders t’ git ye an’ I got ye.” 

He swung the boat’s bow about and soon 
had her skimming over the water toward the 
3M 


FRED GIVES UP THE FIGHT 


tug. It was plain to be seen that he was a 
splendid waterman. His strong arms handled 
the oars perfectly, with just that poise and 
balance and correct grip in the water that 
marks the man who knows how to get the most 
out of his strength without wasting any of it. 
Fred watched him in admiration. 

“ You can certainly row,” he said. 

“ Well,” said John modestly, “ I ’d orter. 
Bin on th’ water all my life, ever since I was 
a kid younger hi you.” 

They were near the tug by this time, and! 
Fred saw that two men were waiting for them. 
The lad scanned their faces anxiously to see 
if one of them was his old enemy, Bill Fisher, 
but he was relieved to see that both were en- 
tire strangers to him. 

“ Bill has gone into the cabin to fix my 
bunk, I guess,” he thought. 

“ Ship yer oars,” called one of the men, and 
John Maddox stopped his rowing. The nose 
of the boat was caught in strong hands as they 
slid up to the tug and soon they were made 
fast. The two men caught Fred under the 
armpits as he started to rise, and the lad was 
lifted bodily over the gunwale and placed 
rather roughly upon the deck. A twinge of 
pain crossed his face as his swollen foot struck 
3i5 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

the hard planks. John Maddox noticed this 
and sprang up beside him. 

“ Easy there in handlin’ this kid,” he shouted 
angrily. “ He ’s a game kid an’ he ’s got a 
sprained ankle, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ t’ stand fer 
nobody gittin’ rough with him. We ’ll keep 
him a prisoner fer th’ Boss, but we ’ll do it as 
gentle as we kin.” 

“ All right, old soft heart,” answered one of 
the men, laughing good-naturedly. u We ’ll 
preserve yer precious little lamb jest as much 
as possible. Only it seems ter me thet a feller 
as gives as much trouble as this here one has 
given oughter be purty well prepared to take 
any kind of medicine as comes t’ him. How- 
ever, seein’ ’s he ’s a special pet o’ yourn, we ’ll 
give him th’ best th’ house affords.” 

“Aw, shut up,” growled John Maddox. 
“ Don’t ye try t’ be so derned funny. Is th’ 
bunk ready in th’ for’ard cabin ? ” 

“ Aye, aye, Cap’n,” answered the man, giv- 
ing John a mocking salute. “ We ’re awaitin’ 
yer orders like respec’ful servants.” 

John Maddox led the way into the cabin, and 
Fred limped after him. It was all very neat and 
clean, and the bunk, spread with its white sheets 
and a heavy blanket, looked the most inviting 
thing Fred had seen in a long time. 

316 


FRED GIVES UP THE FIGHT 


As he glanced about, he caught a glimpse 
of a tousled head peeping in at him from the 
door and he recognized the boy who had rowed 
him down the river and put him ashore. In 
spite of his sprained ankle he sprang to the 
door, but the boy had fled down the deck and 
was standing safely in the engine-room door, 
ready to retreat into his hiding-place the mo- 
ment danger threatened. Fred shook his fist 
menacingly. 

“ I ’ll get even with you some day for this, 
you see if I don’t/’ he cried. “ You ’re a nice 
one to break your promise this way.” 

“ Aw, g’wan,” said the boy. 

“ Easy there,” said John Maddox, coming 
up and laying his hand upon Fred’s shoulder. 
“ Don’t let ’s hev no scrappin’ ner hard feelin’s 
aboard till th’ Boss gits back. Plenty of time 
fer thet then.” 

“ All right,” agreed Fred resignedly. “ I 
guess the best thing I can do anyway is to 
lie down a bit and rest this ankle of mine. 
It still pains a good deal.” 

“ Thet ’s right,” said John. “ Jest you take 
a snooze an’ ye ’ll be in better shape t’ meet 
th’ Boss when he comes aboard. We ’ll leave 
ye alone, so ’s ye kin be quiet an’ not be dis- 
turbed. Come on, boys.” 

3i7 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

The three men filed out and closed the door 
behind them, and Fred cast himself wearily 
upon the bunk. His thoughts were anything 
but cheerful as he lay there and contemplated 
his situation. Blake, he felt sure, would be 
terrible in his revenge. He would have Fred 
absolutely in his power and he was villain 
enough to run any risks to satisfy his lust for 
vengeance upon the boy who had ruined his 
plans and threatened to expose him as a 
criminal. 

So troubled grew the lad’s thoughts that, 
far from getting the restful sleep that he 
needed, he tossed back and forth upon the 
bunk and several times struck the sore ankle. 

“ I can’t sleep,” he muttered as he arose and 
hobbled over to the window opposite the side 
by which he had entered the cabin. 

He gazed out longingly across the little bay. 
Directly across from him was the lower point, 
within easy swimming distance. He measured 
the water with his eye and then glanced rue- 
fully at his swollen foot. If it were not for 
this, how easy it would be to slip quietly into 
the river over the gunwale and swim silently 
away, without any one being the wiser for 
it. The line from the tug to the point was 
entirely out of sight of the men on the port 
318 


FRED GIVES UP THE FIGHT 


side, and he could make it without difficulty; 
if it were not for this useless leg. 

He cautiously tried the latch of the door be- 
side him. It yielded without a sound and he 
pushed it open. Very quietly he stepped out 
upon the deck and gazed around him. Not a 
soul was in sight. 

“ I 'm almost tempted to try it,” he muttered 
to himself with a wistful smile. “ I 'd do it in 
a minute if this foot would only stop bothering 
me. But there would n't be a chance with such 
a handicap.” 

He gazed about him again with the longing 
still in his eyes. Then he stooped down and 
felt of the water, finding it cool and delicious 
to the touch and very inviting to as good a 
swimmer as he was. 

“ Pshaw!” he muttered, shaking his head. 
“ I must n't think of it. It would be absurd 
to try it. Why, John Maddox would have me 
inside of two minutes.” 

He leaned down again and felt of the water. 
Then he crept back to the cabin and crossed it 
to the window on the port side. He looked 
out and quickly came back again to the star- 
board deck. The three men were sitting on 
the opposite side, their backs against the cabins 
and their whole attention absorbed in a game 
3*9 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

of cards. No one could see him. Blake would 
almost kill him. Why should n’t he make one 
last desperate attempt to escape it, even though 
that attempt were almost certainly doomed to 
failure? 

He slipped into the water without a sound. 
Shoving off from the tug, he began with silent 
strokes to make for the point. The river in 
the little bay was as smooth as glass, and, 
though Fred’s ankle impeded him considerably, 
yet he made good time. 

But with each stroke of his foot, the pain 
increased. It was evident that one leg would 
soon be out of commission altogether. The 
pain became greater and greater as he pro- 
gressed. He tried swimming with only one 
leg, but the pain in the other seemed just as 
great. He turned over upon his back and, 
swimming with one leg and arm, drew the 
other foot up and rubbed it with his hand, 
kneading the tender flesh to get the blood cir- 
culating more freely. Then he floated upon 
his back, kicking out cautiously once or twice 
with his injured foot to try it. The pain still 
bothered him, but it was not so bad as before. 

Once more he turned upon his face and be- 
gan a steady side stroke, using the bad ankle 
as little as possible and striving not so much to 
3 20 


FRED GIVES UP THE FIGHT 

make speed as to swim without a sound and 
with little strain upon his ankle. 

He smiled with something almost like amuse- 
ment as he saw how near he was getting to the 
shore. 

“ It seems absurd/’ he muttered, “ but I ’m 
more than half way to the point. It looks as if 
there might be a chance for me after all, but 
I won’t believe it because I ’d be just that much 
more disappointed when they caught me. 
However, I don’t propose to give up until I 
have to.” 

He turned on his back again to rest his 
ankle and faced the tug. As he did so, a 
groan escaped him. 

“ There ’s that confounded boy,” he mut- 
tered. 

The tousled youngster who had betrayed 
him was wandering aimlessly along the deck 
near the engine-room. He seemed to have 
no object in life but to kill time, and he assisted 
himself in this operation by throwing some 
small objects over the water, making them skip 
along the surface two or three times. Finally 
he tired of this and wandered toward the bow. 

“ Now,” thought Fred, “ if the little imp 
looks in the window of that forward cabin, 
he ’ll see that I ’m not there and it will be all 
3 21 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

up with me again. I was foolish to make 
such an attempt. I knew I could n’t succeed.” 

But the “ little imp ” was apparently in no 
hurry to do anything. He wandered very 
slowly along the deck, stooping once to study 
something on the planking, returning to the 
engine-room door, going forward again, and 
finally stretching himself full length upon the 
gunwale, his hand trailing in the water and his 
whole attention seemingly absorbed in the blue 
depths of the sky above him. Then he sat 
up again, and as he did so, he looked straight 
at Fred’s head as it bobbed up and down upon 
the surface. 

It took the boy some time to comprehend the 
fact that here was something to furnish him 
with fun. When he did finally grasp its mean- 
ing, however, he sprang into instant life. With 
one bound he reached the door of Fred’s cabin 
and looked in. Then, at the top of his voice, 
he shouted: 

“ Hey, Mr. Maddox. Come quick! Yer 
pris’ner ’s got away. He ’s swimmin’ fer 
shore.” 


322 


CHAPTER XXX 


THE RETURN OF BLAKE 

“ All right,” muttered Fred. “ I knew it 
would end this way, so I 'm not much dis- 
appointed. But if I didn't have this game 
foot I 'd show 'em yet.” 

He glanced longingly at the shore, now not 
more than fifty feet away from him. The trees 
grew all the way out to the water's edge and 
furnished a splendid hiding-place for any one 
being pursued. 

But for Fred it was too late. He heard the 
answering shout of the three men on the tug, 
and he turned again on his back, merely mov- 
ing his hands at his sides enough to keep him- 
self afloat while he waited for John Maddox 
to come and recapture him. Nor did he have 
long to wait. 

He saw the three men dash through his cabin 
and join the boy on the starboard deck. The 
boy pointed to the bobbing head in the water, 
and with another shout, John Maddox had 

323 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


sprung back through the cabin, to reappear 
around the bow in a moment, rowing like mad 
and making the boat almost leap over the water 
with his strong strokes upon the oars. 

“ You need n’t tire yourself,” shouted Fred. 
“ I ’m waiting here for you.” 

John Maddox glanced over his shoulder and 
stopped rowing. 

“ Well, I vum, you infernal little — ” he 
began. 

“ Don’t cuss,” said Fred. “ I ’m just taking 
a little swim.” 

“ It ’s the last you ’ll take fer some time t’ 
come,” said John Maddox. “ Purty denied 
near reached thet ar point, did n’t ye? ” 

With a few more strokes he was alongside, 
and Fred hauled himself over the stern and 
sank upon the seat. John Maddox sat still and 
looked at him for a long minute without a 
word. He seemed undecided whether to laugh 
or be very angry. Finally his native good- 
humor got the upper hand and he smiled 
broadly. 

“ You ’re a spunky kid,” he said. “ Thet ar 
swim must hev hurt yer foot considerable, 
didn’t it?” 

“ Yes,” said Fred, “ it did. But I ’d take a 
bigger chance than that to get away from that 

324 


THE RETURN OF BLAKE 


beast Blake. I beg your pardon ” — as he saw 
a dark and threatening look cross the face of 
John Maddox — “ but, you see, you and I can- 
not possibly view him in the same way, and, 
while you may consider him the most admirable 
of men, from my viewpoint he ’s a beast and 
I ’d like to keep about a thousand miles away 
from him. ,, 

“ I kain’t understand it nohow,” said John 
Maddox, shaking his head. “ I Ve knowed 
Captain Blake fer nigh onter twenty year an’ 
I Ve yet t’ see him raise his hand t’ man or 
beast, let alone a kid like you.” 

“ Well,” said Fred, “ he has raised his hand 
against me several times, once, in particular, 
when he knocked me clean off the stern of a 
boat and left me, as he supposed, to drown in 
the middle of the river.” 

“ Young feller,” said John, leaning forward 
and shaking an angry finger at Fred, “ I like t’ 
think thet everybody tells th’ truth, most 
’specially young fellers like you, but when ye 
tell me thet ar ag’in’ Captain Blake, ye lie an’ 
thet ’s all there is to it. Now you jest shet up 
er I ’m like t’ knock ye inter th’ river meself. 
Not another word now. Shet up.” 

Fred saw at once that he had offended John 
Maddox deeply. He wondered again that a 
3 2 5 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

man of this stamp should be so blindly de- 
voted to the villainous Blake, but the problem 
was too deep for him to fathom, and, besides, 
he was so utterly tired out that he did not care 
much about it one way or the other. 

The two friends of John Maddox were wait- 
ing for them as they nosed up to the tug, and 
this time John said not a word of protest as 
they swung Fred up out of the rowboat and 
slammed him down viciously upon the deck. 
Maddox was moody and angry, and it was evi- 
dent that he did not propose to give further 
protection to a boy who would malign his Boss 
as Fred had done. The boy's face was drawn 
sharply with the pain of his rough handling, 
but he looked at Maddox in vain. 

“ G' on now," ordered John gruffly. “ Git 
inter yer cabin ag'in an' git them wet clothes 
off 'n ye. Then we 'll fix ye in ther so 's ye 
kain't take no more swimmin’ trips 'less 'n yer 
throwed in ag'in be Captain Blake." 

He shoved Fred roughly into the cabin and 
stormed in after him, slamming the door be- 
hind him and turning the key in the lock with 
a vicious snap. 

“ G' on now," he commanded again. “ Don't 
start no monkey-doodle business er I 'll take a 
hand myself an’ treat ye worse 'n Captain 
326 


THE RETURN OF BLAKE 


Blake ever thought o’ doin’. Throwed ye in 
th’ water, did he ? Little liar ! ” 

Fred decided that it was best to keep per- 
fectly quiet and not arouse this man’s wrath 
any further. He removed his wet clothing and 
took the dry, if somewhat frayed, shirt and 
trousers that one of the men tossed to him 
through the window. It was a relief to know 
finally that, as he expressed it, it “ was all up 
with ” him, that he was at last thoroughly 
beaten and helpless, and that there need be no 
more worry and planning his escape. 

“ I ’ve done the best I could and I ’ve been 
beaten,” he said to himself. “ Now I ’m going 
to lie down on that bunk and get some of the 
rest and sleep that I need so much. Then I ’ll 
be better fitted to talk to Blake.” 

He cast himself again between the clean 
sheets and, as he wrapped the blanket about 
his chin, he noticed John Maddox standing 
in the port doorway, looking at him sadly and 
pityingly. 

“ Well, Mr. Maddox,” said Fred, “ you 
need n’t worry about me any more. I ’m done. 
I need sleep more than I need freedom and 
I ’m going to get it if you ’ll let me. I ’m 
sorry we can’t agree on the question of Cap- 
tain Blake’s sweet disposition, but we can 

327 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


settle that another time after Blake has set- 
tled me. Now for sleep.” 

Maddox said never a word, but walked out 
upon the deck and closed the door, turning the 
key in the lock. He walked around the front 
of the cabins and joined his two companions 
on the starboard side. 

“ Ther ’s sompin’ about thet ar kid as I 
kain’t quite make out,” he said. “ Ef I ’m any 
jedge o’ character, he \s honest an’ straight as 
a die, an’ why all these people is after him so 
hard is more ’n I kin make out. But I guess 
th’ Boss knows what he ’s a-doin’ an’ it ain't 
fer me an' you t’ ask too many questions. Still 
I kain’t make it out.” 

“ Best fer ye not t’ try, John,” suggested 
one of the men. “ You jest git inter th' boat 
an’ row ashore an' see ef ye kain’t find the 
Boss an' th’ rest of ’em. We ’d orter be gitthT 
back t’ th’ city.” 

“ W ell, all right,” answered Maddox. “ But 
you fellers keep a sharp eye on th’ kid an’ 
don’t stand fer no monkey business. You don’t 
need t’ do nothin’ rough so long ’s he behaves 
himself anyways decent, but don’t let him git 
a chanst t’ git away ag’in.” 

Maddox stepped into the rowboat and seated 
himself at the oars. 


328 


THE RETURN OF BLAKE 


“ You might ’s well git everythin’ ready t’ 
start,” he added. “ I guess they won’t be far 
off.” 

With a few wide sweeps of the oars he had 
put off and was soon shoving the boat’s nose 
up upon the sand, springing out and hauling a 
line up on shore to make her fast. Then he 
plunged in among the trees and was lost to 
sight. 

The men he had left on the tug watched 
him until he disappeared and then set about 
their tasks. One of them peered in at the win- 
dow of the cabin where Fred lay. He watched 
the lad for some moments and then turned 
again to his companion. 

“ Sound asleep,” he said. “ Let ’s git busy.” 

Meanwhile John Maddox had passed the 
boys’ campfire and had started to follow the 
trail blazed by Fred the night before. In the 
broad daylight it was an easy path to follow, 
and it was not long before the man had reached 
the clearing and made his way out upon the 
road to the spot where Fred had left his barked 
stick as a sign-post and where Zeke Parker and 
his country sleuths had waited so long for the 
station robber. But Maddox did not turn into 
the road. He sat upon the fence as though 
he had an appointment to meet some one here, 
3 2 9 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

every now and then glancing to the left, in the 
direction of Farmer Hollins’ road. Soon he 
was rewarded. A cloud of dust rose to the 
top of the hillock beyond, followed by the 
figures of five persons walking hurriedly. 

Two of these persons were youths about 
Fred’s age, one was a pleasant-faced man in a 
blue uniform, one a stylishly dressed, keen- 
eyed man with a black moustache, and the 
other evidently a longshoreman or deck hand. 
As the party neared him, John Maddox jumped 
down from the fence. The man in the blue 
uniform hurried to meet him. 

“ We went to the farmhouse, John,” he said, 
“but the boy had fled. We have searched 
everywhere, but we cannot find him.” 

“ I ’ve got him on th’ tug,” said John 
Maddox. 

“On the tug?” asked the man in surprise. 

“ Aye, sir. He ’s got a sprained ankle and 
I had some trouble with him. He jumped into 
the river and tried to give us th’ slip by swim- 
min’, but I got him ag’in an’ now he ’s sleepin’ 
like a top. He ’s that tired, you could n’t wake 
him with a cannon.” 

“ Good,” said the man and, turning to the 
others, he cried: 

“ It ’s all right. John has our friend fast 
330 


THE RETURN OF BLAKE 


aboard the tug. Let ’s get there as quickly as 
we can, for I, for one, am almost famished. ,, 

There was a hearty cheer from the group as 
they heard the news, and all leaped the fence 
and plunged into the wood, following the foot- 
steps of John Maddox, who led the way. 

It did not take them long to reach the black- 
ened ashes of the fire. Here they turned to 
the left and soon stood on the shore before 
John's rowboat. 

“ Three of you is th’ best I kin take on a 
trip," said John Maddox. 

“ Oh," said one of the youths, “ you need n’t 
worry about us. I ’ve got me own boat, you 
know." 

“ That ’s right. I forgot that," answered 
John, and he made ready to put off. 

The three men seated themselves in his boat, 
and the youth who had spoken went to a clump 
of bushes near by and, almost crawling on his 
hands and knees, disappeared under them. 

John swung his boat about and headed for 
the tug. The two deck hands were waiting as 
they neared it and grasped the bow, swinging 
it broadside alongside and giving a helping 
hand to the man in the uniform and the man 
with the black moustache. The other was 
allowed to help himself as best he could, but 
33i 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

he was evidently an old waterman and needed 
no assistance. 

Hardly had this boatload got aboard the tug 
than the youth was seen to shoot out from be- 
hind the bushes, rowing in a cranky old skiff 
that had evidently seen better days. He 
brought her over to where the other lad was 
waiting for him upon the shore and, with his 
passenger, was soon headed for the tug. 

“ You ought to enter that shell in the Hen- 
ley Regatta,” called the man with the mous- 
tache in a bantering tone. 

But the oarsman only gritted his teeth and 
rowed the harder. 

“ I ’ll come out and swim to the tug before 
you reach her, if you want to make a bet on 
the result,” laughed the man in the uniform. 

Again the youth gritted his teeth and gave 
an extra strong pull upon his oars. But the 
result was disastrous. In his zeal to put 
strength into his pull, he had neglected to dip 
his oars deep enough and, as they skimmed 
over the surface of the water without offering 
the expected resistance to his strength, the 
force of his effort sent him over backward, 
sprawling into the bottom of the boat and 
almost upsetting her. 

As he rose ruefully to his feet, he was 
332 


THE RETURN OF BLAKE 

greeted with a hearty laugh from the group 
on the deck of the tug, but he waved his hand 
good-naturedly and once more took his seat 
on the rower's thwart, this time exercising 
more care in the management of his oars and 
seeming satisfied to get a good grip in the 
water without trying for speed. 

“ Why don't you leave the old scow here? " 
asked the man with the moustache. “ She will 
never live through a trip up to the city." 

“ She lived through the trip down and a 
good deal more beside," said the youth dog- 
gedly. “ And, as for that, she does n’t belong 
to me, and I 'm going to see that she gets back 
to her owner in good shape and a fair price for 
the unwilling loan of her which, I 'm thinking, 
you '11 be asked to pay." 

“ Indeed I will and gladly," the man assured 
him. “ If it had n't been for that old boat, 
where would you be now ? " 

The lad pointed out to the broad river. 

“ Probably about half a mile out there," he 
answered and added grimly, “ and about ten 
feet under the surface, floating face up." 

The two youths boarded the tug, and the 
man turned to John Maddox. 

“ Now," he said, “ let us see your prisoner." 

Maddox led them to the window of the cabin 
333 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

where Fred had slept through all the noise. 
They stood looking at the tired boy for some 
time. Then the man with the moustache 
turned to the man in the uniform. 

“ Poor kid,” he said kindly. “ He ’s com- 
pletely tuckered out. Let him sleep. I think, 
Captain Blake, we had better get up anchor 
and get back to the city.” 


334 


CHAPTER XXXI 


HOMEWARD BOUND 

Fred was sleeping as he had seldom slept 
before in all his healthy young life. Not a 
muscle of his body moved and his breath came 
in deep, regular draughts that bespoke a per- 
fect physical being in the utter forgetfulness 
that comes only with such slumber. 

Not a sound of all the noise that had 
been made on the deck of the tug disturbed 
him. The voices of the men and the stamp- 
ing of their feet upon the resounding plank- 
ing were loud and startling enough, but the 
tired boy lay as peacefully as a baby in its 
cradle. 

The youth who had so staunchly defended his 
old, weather-beaten rowboat, stood now at the 
window of the cabin, looking in at the young 
reporter and smiling gladly, though there was 
a suspicious moisture in his frank Irish eyes. 
He was freckled and red-headed, and if the 
reader had any doubts of his identity they 
335 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

would have been removed when he turned to 
the other lad and said: 

“ I say, Walter, come here and look at him. 
Sure, if I could be sure of sleeping as sound 
again to-night, I ’d be all right in my mind, as 
my great-uncle said when he woke on the last 
morning.” 

Walter Desborough joined him at the win- 
dow, and together the two lads stood there 
gazing in and evidently impatient to waken the 
sleeper. 

“ I don’t wonder you ’re fond of him, 
Paddy,” said Walter. “ He ’s a fine-looking 
fellow and I guess he ’s just as fine as he 
looks.” 

“ Fine, is it? ” asked Paddy. “ Let me tell 
you, my friend, if half the young men in 
America were as fine as Fred Spencer, we ’d 
have little use for a police force.” 

“ And to think that I doubted him from the 
first and did my best to make all his plans fail. 
And I almost did destroy it all, too, through 
my stupidity.” 

“ Hush that,” admonished Paddy. “ Sure, 
you had no way of knowing what a fine bird 
your Uncle Blake is. Why should you be be- 
lieving the first good-looking stranger that 
came along to tell you that he was this or that 
336 


HOMEWARD BOUND 


or the other thing? You did just right under 
the circumstances, and nobody can blame you 
for it. But, begorrah, you did come mighty 
near spoiling it all, didn’t you?” 

“ I did,” admitted Walter. “ But I ’m going 
to make up for it when we all get back to the 
city and I get my affairs straightened out. 
I ’ll show you that I can be just as good a 
friend as I can be an enemy — and I think 
you ’ll admit that that ’s pretty good.” 

Paddy smiled grimly. 

“ I will that,” he said with a hearty hand- 
shake. “ You certainly gave the two of us 
all we could handle, and I ’m not so sure but 
you would have got the best of me over there 
if we had n’t been so fortunate as to be inter- 
rupted in our little scrap. Sure, my jaw ’s sore 
yet where you landed that right fist of yours.” 

“ Nonsense!” said Walter. “ That was a 
chance blow, and it would not have landed if 
your foot had n’t slipped. Why, I felt that I 
was whipped almost as soon as we began 
fighting.” 

“ Oh, well,” said Paddy, “ it ’s a question 
we ’ll have to leave open, as my great-uncle 
said when they asked him how he thought it 
would feel to be hanged. I would n’t fight you 
now, not if you were to wipe this deck up with 
337 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

me. Sure, I ’m too hungry to think of hold- 
ing hard feelings for any one. I wonder do 
we get a bite of the lunch and dinner we missed 
yesterday and the breakfast we should have 
had this morning.” 

But the savory smell of frying bacon that 
was wafted to them from the galley set at rest 
all possible doubts on this score. Paddy sniffed 
the air like a hungry animal. 

“ Sure, if it was the soles of my shoes they 
were cooking in there I could eat them with a 
bit of pepper and salt, ,, he declared. 

But the other men on the tug were too busy 
to think of breakfast just then. Under the 
orders of John Maddox, they had shipped the 
anchor, the two rowboats were taken aboard, 
and the jangling of the bell in the engine-room 
soon told the lads that they were under full 
speed. 

They stood together in the bow as the tug 
swept around in a graceful curve and headed 
up the river, putting out from the shore and 
making almost directly for the Red Shoals 
light. 

As the scene of their last night’s campfire 
faded from view over the stern and the tug 
headed over to the east, making straight up 
stream, Paddy turned to Walter with a sigh. 

338 


HOMEWARD BOUND 


“ Well/’ he said, “ I ’m glad it ’s over, but 
we had plenty of excitement while it lasted, 
did n’t we? ” 

“ Yes,” answered the English lad. “ But 
I am of the opinion that we had an easy time 
of it compared with what Fred has gone 
through. He ’s certainly spunky clear through. 
I know I should have given up long ago if I 
had been in his place.” 

“ Oh, that ’s a clever boy,” declared Paddy. 
“ Sure, I bet he used that brain of his to get 
that telegram up to Mr. Ball. We must make 
him tell us all about that as soon as he gets 
awake.” 

“ And the gun that John Maddox took away 
from him,” exclaimed Walter. “ Where do 
you suppose he got that ? He must have taken 
it from somebody, and that means that some- 
body had it to use against him and that means 
more excitement.” 

Together they walked back to Fred’s window 
and again stood gazing at the motionless form 
of the reporter. The man with the black mous- 
tache approached them, and Paddy beckoned 
to him. 

“ Come here, Mr. Ball/’ whispered the Irish 
lad. “ Come here and look at the best reporter 
you ’ve got on your staff.” 

339 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Mr. Ball joined them before the window and 
looked at Fred with eyes that expressed the 
tenderest concern and the deepest admiration. 

“ That ’s what he is, Paddy,” he said. 
“ But there ’s another mighty good man who 
is n’t on my staff yet, but whom I am going 
to ask to join my force and take charge of 
the telegraph key that Fred will have to vacate 
when he starts as a reporter.” 

“ Sure, who ’s that ? ” asked Paddy. 

“ His name,” said Mr. Ball, looking keenly 
into the blue Irish eyes, “ is Patrick O’Shea 
O’Day. Did you ever hear of him ? ” 

Paddy’s jaw dropped. He was too dum- 
founded to speak. Finally he gasped: 

“ Do you mean me? ” 

“ I do,” said Mr. Ball. “ Would you accept a 
position as telegraph operator if I were to offer 
it to you ? Oh ” — as Paddy began to protest — 
“ I know you are not very skillful yet, but, from 
what you have told me, you must have a pretty 
good groundwork of knowledge of telegraphy, 
and I can make you very useful around the office 
while you are perfecting yourself. Come, what 
do you say? Will you accept the position? ” 

Paddy looked from one to the other, still too 
surprised to speak. Then his Irish humor 
came to his rescue and he smiled grimly. 

340 


HOMEWARD BOUND 


“ Sure, I ’ll accept on the spot,” he declared, 
“ if you don’t think I ought to give two weeks’ 
notice to my present employer.” 

“ And who is he? ” asked Mr. Ball. 

“ Why, Fred Spencer, the famous reporter. 
Did you ever hear of him ? ” 

“ Then we can consider it settled,” declared 
the city editor, smiling and grasping Paddy’s 
hand. “ Fred will be glad to have you on the 
staff, I feel sure.” 

“ What do you think of that? ” asked Paddy 
of Walter, as Mr. Ball left them. “ Sure, he 
couldn’t have made me so happy if he had 
given me a hundred dollars in cash. I ’ve been 
studying like a Trojan for months in the hopes 
that some day I could be an operator like Fred, 
but I never thought it would come as quick as 
this, nor did I even dare to hope that I could get a 
job in the Morning Call office. Whoop ! Maybe 
I won’t work hard to become an expert.” 

“ You deserve it, Paddy,” said Walter 
heartily. “If it hadn’t been for you, Fred 
could never have succeeded.” 

“Ah, go on with your Blarney,” said the 
Irish lad modestly. “ There ’s Mr. Ball beck- 
oning for you. Go on and be interviewed. 
He probably wants to know how you like 
America by this time.” 

34i 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Walter went aft to where the city editor 
stood, and the two disappeared into one of the 
cabins. Paddy stood at the side of the tug, 
watching the changing panorama of the dis- 
tant shore as they flew past it toward the city. 
He did not see the door of Fred's cabin open 
slowly and a head peer cautiously out. Nor 
did he see the glad look of recognition that 
came into the eyes of the head as they rested 
upon him for an instant. 

He was startled from his reverie by hear- 
ing his name called in a loud whisper, and, 
turning, he confronted the young reporter, who 
limped to the gunwale and held a finger to his 
lips in a command for silence. 

“ Sh-h-h! " whispered Fred. 

“ Sh-h-h yourself ! " cried Paddy. “ Fred, 
old fellow, how — " 

But Fred sprang upon him and closed his 
mouth tightly with the palm of his hand. 

“ Be quiet, you idiot!" said the reporter. 
“ There 's a chance yet. Don't let them hear 
you." 

He pointed with his disengaged hand to a 
tug far up the river, headed toward them. 

“ We can make that tug easily," he said in 
a hurried whisper. “ We can slip over the side 
here, stay under water until this tug has passed 
342 


HOMEWARD BOUND 


us, and then float until that one conies down. 
Don’t you see ? ” 

Paddy wrenched himself free and stood star- 
ing at Fred in open-mouthed astonishment. 

“What — ” he began, but again Fred si- 
lenced him. 

“ Come on, quick ! ” ordered the young re- 
porter, starting again for the gunwale and 
throwing one leg over, preparatory to slipping 
into the river. “ Come on, Paddy ! Don’t 
stand there gaping like a loon. Some one will 
hear us before we get away.” 

“ Get away, is it? ” gasped Paddy. “ Sure, 
what — ” 

“ Certainly, get away,” said Fred impa- 
tiently and almost angrily. “ What ’s the 
matter? Have you lost your nerve ? ” 

“ Lost nothing,” declared the Irish lad. 
“ You ’re the one that has lost something, and 
that same is your senses.” 

“ No, I have n’t,” protested Fred doggedly. 
“ I tell you we can make it easily, and if you ’re 
afraid to try it, I ’m not, so here goes. I ’ll 
look you up and get you away from them when 
I get back to the city.” 

He slid one foot into the water and was 
preparing to follow with his whole body, 
when Paddy recovered himself sufficiently to 
343 


FRED SPEKCER; REPORTER 

spring at him and grasp him firmly by the 
arm. 

“ Come back out of that,” commanded the 
Irish boy. “ Sure, I ’m beginning to believe 
you ’ve gone daffy entirely. What ’s all this 
about getting me away from them ? ” 

Fred struggled desperately to free himself, 
but Paddy not only held on firmly but called 
lustily for Walter Desborough. At the sound 
of this name from the lips of his friend Fred 
sank back in astonishment. 

“ Paddy ! ” he gasped. “ Have you turned 
traitor ? Have you deserted me for his 
money ? ” 

“ Walter, come here quick! ” shouted Paddy. 

Fred gave a sudden lunge and sent Paddy 
sprawling backward upon the deck, but the 
Irish boy’s grip was not shaken and the young 
reporter was dragged after him. They rolled 
over and over each other, Fred fighting like 
a young demon to free himself, and they might 
have inflicted serious damage upon each other 
had not Walter Desborough appeared from 
the cabin and run up to them. 

“ Grab him ! ” gasped Paddy. “ Sure, the 
young wildcat has me near dead. I never saw 
such a fighter since I was born.” 

Together they bore down upon the young 
344 


HOMEWARD BOUND 

reporter and soon had him pinioned to the 
deck. 

“ All right ! ” he panted, glaring angrily 
from one to the other. “ I ’ll fix both of you 
for this.” 

He kicked and struggled again, but the odds 
were too heavy against him, and he lay ex- 
hausted but with the fire of battle still flashing 
from his eyes. 

“ Paddy,” he said in a voice strangely mixed 
with sadness and anger, “ I never should have 
thought that you would turn against me. As 
for you, Desborough — ” 

“ Turn against you, is it?” cried the Irish 
boy. “ Walter, whatever is the lunatic bab- 
bling about? ” 

“ Why,” said Walter with a laugh, “ I don’t 
know for certain, but it looks to me as though 
he did not understand the situation. Have you 
explained it all to him ? ” 

“ Explained,” shouted Paddy. “ What 
chance did he give me to explain with his 
‘ Sh-h-h ’ and his foolish talk about jumping 
into the river and swimming for that tug over 
there ? ” 

“ That ’s it,” said Walter, turning to Fred. 
“ You see, Fred, we ’re all friends here, and 
there is no reason for you to want to get away. 

345 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 


Let him up, Paddy, and we ’ll tell him all 
about it.” 

Fred slowly sat up, as his two conquerors 
released him. He looked from one to the other 
in a way that showed plainly that he did not 
understand a word of all that they had said. 

“ But — but,” he stammered, “ Blake ’s got 
me here on his tug just where he wants me 
and he ’ll half kill me.” 

Paddy and Walter laughed heartily. 

“ Sure,” said Paddy, “ the only Blake on 
board this boat is the captain of this tug and 
he ’s under Mr. Ball’s orders.” 

“ What ! ” shouted Fred in amazement. “ Is 
Mr. Ball here, too? ” 

“ Certainly,” answered Paddy. “ This is the 
tug he brought down to find us and we’re 
headed for home now.” 


346 


CHAPTER XXXII 


EXPLANATIONS 

For several seconds Fred sat upon the deck, 
gazing blankly from one to the other. So 
utterly vacant was his expression that both 
Paddy and Walter burst out laughing, and, as 
the realization of the situation forced itself upon 
the young reporter, he joined them, quietly at 
first, but becoming nearly hysterical as there 
rushed over him a complete reaction and the long 
strain upon his nerves was suddenly removed. 

“ Going home/’ he shouted between laughter 
and tears. “ Going home. And Mr. Ball here. 
Then, Paddy, we ’ve won — we ’ve won.” 

“ Sure, you Ve won,” said the Irish lad, and 
he grasped Fred’s outstretched hands and 
helped him to his feet. 

“And Mr. Ball is here? Where is he?” 
shouted the reporter, fairly dancing about in 
his sudden joy. 

“ He ’s in the cabin back there,” answered 
Walter. “ I ’ll go tell him you ’re awake.” 

The English lad ran down the sloping deck 
347 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

and disappeared into a doorway, and Fred 
again turned to Paddy. 

“ But I don’t understand it at all,” he cried. 
“ I certainly thought I was a prisoner here and 
that I was being held until Blake should return 
and decide what was to be done with me. And 
suddenly I wake up and find that instead of 
Blake, I face only my good friends and that 
everything is all right instead of being a flat 
failure as I supposed it was. I don’t under- 
stand it. John Maddox certainly gave me to 
understand that I was a prisoner.” 

“ Oh, I can make that clear enough,” said 
Paddy. “ Let ’s go back into the cabin with 
Mr. Ball, and we ’ll tell you the whole thing 
after you ’ve told us what you ’ve been 
through.” 

Together they walked aft and met Walter 
and Mr. Ball as the latter were coming out of 
the cabin. All entered the room again and sat 
down comfortably, sniffing hungrily at the 
savory odors that came to them from the galley. 

Mr. Ball’s greeting of Fred was so hearty as 
to make the young man’s face flush with grati- 
fication and pleasure. He had never seen the 
strict city editor unbend so much before to any 
one, even to the many great and influential men 
who frequently called upon him in his office. 

348 


EXPLANATIONS 


“ Well, Fred,” said he, and Fred flushed 
with happiness again as he noticed his su- 
perior's use of his first name, “ you must have 
had a bookful of adventures since you said 
good-bye to me in the office and started out to 
win your spurs. Now I want you to tell me 
all about it, but before you begin, let me tell 
you that you have won those spurs beautifully 
and you shall be presented with them just as 
soon as we get back. Why, my boy, I should 
be proud of Martin himself if he accomplished 
such a job as you have successfully finished.” 

This was the highest praise that could possi- 
bly be bestowed upon a member of the Morning 
Call staffi, and Fred appreciated it at its full 
value even if Paddy and Walter did not. 

“ Well, sir,” began the lad, “ I suppose you 
know some of our story already from Paddy 
here.” 

“ Yes,” answered Mr. Ball, “ he has told me 
everything up to the time you left him and 
Walter sitting by the fire and you went to 
hunt a telegraph wire. That was a great piece 
of work, Fred, the way you got me on that 
wire. And, by the way, will you release Paddy 
from your employ if I give him charge of your 
wire in the office? ” 

Fred jumped up and grasped both of Paddy’s 
hands. 


349 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

‘‘Will I?” he cried. “Why, Paddy, it’s 
just the chance you want. You are certainly 
to be congratulated.” 

“ Yes, Paddy/’ put in Walter, “ please accept 
my congratulations, too.” 

Paddy sniffed the savory air. 

“ I ’d rather be accepting some of that bacon 
and eggs and bread and butter and coffee, if 
it ’s all the same to you,” he declared, but he 
shook hands all around and beamed and 
showed beyond a doubt how much he did ap- 
preciate the honor that had come to him so 
unexpectedly. 

“ Now, go ahead, Fred, and let ’s have your 
story,” said Mr. Ball. 

Fred related modestly all that had taken 
place since he had left his two companions on 
the shore to blaze his way through the forest 
and flash a message for aid into the heart of 
the city so far to the north. As the tale pro- 
gressed, it was curious to watch the changes 
in the expressions of his three hearers. 

Walter Desborough’s eyes never left the 
face of the young reporter from the time he 
commenced until he had finished. The Eng- 
lish lad drank in every word almost breath- 
lessly, his frank and almost worshipful admira- 
tion showing plainly in his eyes. He seemed 
" 350 


EXPLANATIONS 


not to be able to see enough of this young hero 
whose plans he had tried at first so hard to 
defeat. His whole attitude was one of hero 
worship, and his expression was even more 
ardent after the recital was done than it had 
been before. 

Paddy, on the contrary, smiled a smile of 
good-natured proprietorship throughout the 
tale. From time to time he nodded his head 
to the others as Fred reached a particularly 
dramatic point, as much as to say : “ There ! 
You see how I have trained my boy to act in 
danger. He ’s my boy, he is — mine ” 

Mr. Ball kept his keen eyes fixed upon Fred 
from the first. He very plainly showed his 
admiration of the lad’s pluck and good sense, 
but, with his long years of experience, he 
seemed to be measuring the real strength of 
the young reporter and to be speculating as 
to how this strength would carry him in the 
greater and more responsible tasks that 
awaited him in his future career. But he was 
evidently satisfied with his speculations, for his 
eyes twinkled merrily as Fred related how he 
gave his pursuers the slip time after time, and 
he joined Paddy and Walter in their loud 
laughter when the reporter reached the point 
in his tale where he had been captured by John 
35i 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

Maddox and had tried to swim away from the 
tug, not knowing that it belonged to his friends 
instead of to Blake, his arch enemy. 

“ I can easily explain the actions of John 
Maddox,” said Mr. Ball. “ When we went to 
hunt for you, there was no time to tell him the 
whole story. So we simply gave him a descrip- 
tion of you and told him that, if you came 
along, he was to keep you there until we re- 
turned. We did not mean that he was to use 
force. We only thought that you would be 
anxious to hunt for us and that we might miss 
each other in the wood and so delay our return 
to the city. I can understand now that Mad- 
dox must have thought you had done some- 
thing awful to cause so much trouble, so he 
made up his mind that he must hold you at all 
hazards.” 

“ Well,” said Fred, “ he certainly carried out 
his orders to the letter. But now I want to 
know how you all happen to have got together.” 

“ That is simple enough,” said M<r. Ball. 
“As soon as I received your message in the 
office, I phoned to my friend Captain Blake of 
this tug and asked him if he could take me 
down the river at once. Fortunately, he had 
just come into his dock and he had steam up, 
so there was no delay in starting. I jumped 
352 


EXPLANATIONS 

into an automobile, hurried down to the wharf, 
and we set out at full speed. 

“ As you had arranged, we hung out our two 
red lights on the port side after we passed the 
Red Shoals. Then we crept in close to shore 
and began feeling our way downstream, look- 
ing for your signal.” 

“ And at that time,” said Fred, ‘ I was sit- 
ting up in the tree at Farmer Hollins’ place, 
with the two dogs snapping at my legs and 
the farmer and Zeke Parker just itching to 
get their fingers on me.” 

“Well,” continued the city editor, “when 
we got a little below where you were, we 
heard a shout from the shore. I had the tug 
stopped and shouted back an answer. We 
heard another shout and then the sound of 
scuffling.” 

Mr. Ball smiled at Paddy and Walter, as he 
reached this point in his narrative, and the two 
smiled back at him, though somewhat sheep- 
ishly. 

“ I could n’t get any more answers, though 
I called several times, and I made up my mind 
to investigate. We put out in a boat and ar- 
rived just in time to interrupt as savage a prize 
fight as I ever hope to witness. The principals 
were Paddy O’Shea O’Day, ex-champion of 
353 


FRED. SPENCER; REPORTER 

Ireland, and Walter Desborough, feather- 
weight champion of England.” 

Fred looked at the two lads, but he could 
see that, even if they had engaged in a des- 
perate battle, they were now the best of friends. 

“ And a mighty good thing it was you came 
when you did,” said Paddy. “ Sure, Walter 
had just given me a poke on the jaw that was 
a beauty. I saw the beautiful little stars play- 
ing tag up in the heavens above me and a 
dozen brass bands began to play sweet music 
inside of my head. Oh, he can hit, can this 
lad here.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Walter modestly. " Why, 
Paddy, you had me just about whipped when 
Mr. Ball called out, 'Is that you, Spencer? 
This is Mr. Bali; ” 

“ And maybe I was n’t glad to hear him say 
that same,” cried the Irish lad. 

“ But,” said Fred, “ what were you fighting 
about ? ” 

“ I saw the tug,” explained Walter, “ and I 
thought the two red lights looked queer. Then 
I thought it might be my uncle looking for 
me, so I shouted, and Paddy jumped on me 
like a mad tiger.” 

"However,” said Mr. Ball, “I soon con- 
vinced Walter that he was in the hands of 
354 


EXPLANATIONS 


friends, and we started to look for you. I 
think that explains everything.” 

“ But there is one thing I still do not under- 
stand/' said Fred. “ Just what was it that 
Blake was trying to do to Walter and what was 
his plan ? ” 

“ Walter 's father/' explained Mr. Ball, 
“ was wrapped up heart and soul in the Mari- 
time Steamship Company, which he founded 
and built up. He had to give up business on 
account of ill health, but he always planned to 
have Walter succeed him, meanwhile leaving 
the active management in the hands of Walter's 
uncle, Blake. Walter's mother, however, did 
not want her boy to go into business. She in- 
tended him for a profession. When Mr. Des- 
borough died, it was found that he had left a 
peculiar will. It provided that, unless Walter 
appeared at the Maritime Steamship offices in 
this city on or before the sixteenth of this 
month and declared his intention of taking an 
active interest in the concern, his shares should 
go to his uncle, Charles Blake. Mr. Desbor- 
ough's plan evidently was to get Walter here 
at that time — he will be eighteen on the six- 
teenth — so that he could not only become in- 
terested in the work, but also so that he would 
be taken away from whatever school his mother 
355 


FRED, SPENCER; REPORTER 

had placed him in to study a profession. Nat- 
urally it was to Blake’s interests to see that he 
did not appear on the sixteenth. In order to 
make sure just where he was, he hatched up 
this plan to get him over here out of his 
mother’s reach yet with her consent, and keep 
him just outside of the city until the sixteenth 
had passed when, according to the will, Blake 
would become the controlling power in the 
steamship company. But you have saved all 
this great fortune for Walter, and I am sure 
he is grateful for it.” 

“ Indeed I am,” said Walter, holding out his 
hand to Fred, who grasped it heartily. “ And 
I ’m going to be the best friend you have.” 

“ I hope you ’ll be a very good one,” said 
Fred. “ But the first place in my heart must 
always be reserved for Paddy. Without his 
aid the success of our little expedition would 
have been impossible. You owe all — ” 

Fred stopped, for Paddy had risen with an 
angry exclamation and had walked out of the 
cabin. 

“ I wonder what ’s the matter,” said Fred. 

He rose and limped after his friend. He 
found the Irish lad in the bow, gazing moodily 
at the faint haze of smoke that hung over the 
river to the north and that marked the city. 
356 


EXPLANATIONS 


Paddy heard him coming and swung round 
upon him savagely. 

“ Look here, Fred Spencer/’ he cried, “ don’t 
you be trying to make a fool of me like that 
again, saying all those things in front of other 
people. You let me alone, and if I happen to 
be of a little help to you, you don’t have to go 
blabbing away like an idiot about it and mak- 
ing me ridiculous. Now you mind that. I 
mean it.” 

Fred gazed at his friend, first in surprise, 
and then burst out laughing. He put a hand 
on each of Paddy’s shoulders and turned him 
about so that they stood face to face. 

“ Paddy,” he said solemnly, “ you ’re not 
pretty, are you ? ” 

“ I ’m not,” agreed Paddy sullenly. 

“ In fact, you ’re rather ugly, are n’t you? ” 

“ I am.” 

“ You ’re red-headed.” 

“ I am that.” 

“ And you ’re freckled.” 

“ True for you.” 

“ And you have a pug nose.” 

“I have. Next?” 

“ Well, that ’s enough. You admit it all, 
don’t you ? ” 

“ I do,” 


357 


FRED SPENCER; REPORTER 

“Well, Paddy,” continued Fred very seri- 
ously and tenderly, “ ugly and unattractive as 
you say you are, I ’d give my right hand or 
both hands or even my life itself rather than 
hurt you intentionally. Why, Paddy, the love 
I feel for you — ” 

“ Belay there,” shouted the Irish lad, 
wrenching himself free from Fred’s grasp. 
“ Stow that kind of talk away until you ’ve 
found some elegant young lady that’s ready 
to listen to it and believe it.” 

He sniffed the air again. 

“ I think breakfast is ready,” he said. 
“ Let ’s go in and forget our troubles. If 
I ’m as tired as I am hungry, I ’m near dead, 
and if I ’m as hungry as I am tired, I ’m starved 
entirely, so you’d better get ready for my 
funeral, whichever way it is.” 

As they entered the cabin they took a part- 
ing look at the misty river to the south of 
them. 

“ Sure,” said Paddy, “ this will all make 
mighty interesting tellin’ for a lot of people to 
listen to, but I wouldn’t go through with it 
again for anything, as my great-uncle said to 
the hangman.” 


THE END 



OCT 28 1912 




